Forever Afternoon
by thisiswhyishouldn'twritefanfic
Summary: Sequel to Storms in Middle Earth. Aragorn and Legolas have a long journey ahead of them, bound to the fate of the ring and the throne of Gondor, and another elf has an equally long path to take in hopes of redemption.
1. Many Reminders

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter One<br>Word Count:** 2,019**  
>Rating:<strong> T/PG-13, with discussions of/implied torture and some... death**  
>Disclaimer:<strong> Normally I'm wittier, but... I got nothing. I would say I own nothing, but that's not true. I created the original characters that are driving the plot, so... I guess I own _something._**  
>Summary:<strong> Sequel to _Storms in Middle Earth._ Aragorn and Legolas have a long journey ahead of them, bound to the fate of the ring and the throne of Gondor, and another elf has an equally long path to take in hopes of redemption. **  
>Author's Note:<strong> So... I told myself I wouldn't start this right after finishing _Storms._ I was going to break and be certain this was what I wanted to do and that I knew what I was doing with it. Well, I think I mostly know what I'm doing and I lost my battle not to write it, since bits and pieces of it have been annoying me since before I finished _Storms. _Still, I must be crazy because this is probably going to end up longer than _Storms _if I include all that I have considered doing.

I liked the parallels in this opening and admit that it does not do much to explain the events of _Storms _for new readers. I actually kind of hate that in sequels myself, and I am not big on summarizing the events of the first part of any of my series in the second, especially since I hate spoilers and stumbling onto the ending of the first story when I read the beginning of the second if for any reason I don't know it's a sequel (that ruined a mystery book I bought once and infuriated me, but then I am a bit obsessive compulsive.) So... because I am that kind of person and that kind of author, if you want explanations, I'm afraid you may have to find them in _Storms_ or one of the other side tales it inspired.

If, of course, you chose not to read the final scene of _Storms, _this story is not going to be for you since it follows that ending.

I told someone that Nostalion has a sense of humor but he didn't get a chance to show it much in _Storms, _but here he does. I rather liked it.

The title is from the Moody Blues song, _"Tuesday Afternoon,"_ which seemed to fit Legolas and got me to write _The Trees are Drawing Me Near,_ and it also fit the journey that everyone has to take over the course of the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Many Reminders<strong>

"Remind me why I agreed to do this?" Aragorn asked, looking over his shoulder at Legolas. The elf had his bow in hand and a grin on his face. Sometimes, that immortal was far too smug, and as much as Aragorn considered him a friend and wanted him to be happy, he found himself hating the elf.

"Because you have indulged my every whim since Firyavaryar died," Legolas answered, and Aragorn grunted. That was true, but he did not want to remind his friend of that dark time. Those wounds had not healed—true, the physical ones had mended long ago, or Legolas would not be out now, and Elrond would not have returned to Imladris, but Legolas had yet to recover from the emotional ones—and their friendship had yet to overcome the small rift that was between them because of Legolas' forgiveness and Aragorn's inability to understand that. He did not think they needed to be reminded of any of it, and he would not have done it himself.

Perhaps it was a sign that Legolas was improving, having willingly brought the subject up himself, but Aragorn still didn't like it.

"I might have been a little lenient when it comes to your whims, but that does not mean that I want to be surrounded by orcs every time we leave your father's house."

Legolas laughed. "Does that mean that you admit to being surrounded this time?"

Aragorn glared at him, but the elf just smiled, moving forward toward trees, placing himself at a better vantage point to watch the orcs approach. Aragorn knew that he should never have agreed to join Legolas on this patrol. That was how things had gone so wrong the last time. One night, one tour of duty, and Legolas' life had been forever altered.

The scars had faded, and even the land had started to recover, growing over the chasm where so much had changed, but there was an empty place in Legolas that could not be filled. Aragorn tried not to resent it, but that was difficult. He did not know how to forgive the one that had made that void, and he did not know how Legolas could do so.

"We are not surrounded."

"I would say 'not yet,' but not only is that more of a comment best left to one of the twins, but also I think it should be said that the orcs seem fewer in number of late. The spiders have been the main problem. I do not know if that is because part of the forces we faced were Ogol's and they perished in that collapse or if the lord of Dol Guldur has turned his attention elsewhere, but I am relieved." Legolas lifted his bow and drew an arrow from his quiver, lining it up for a shot. "I feel I have regained some of my equilibrium and this is as it should be."

"Ehtyarion would not agree. He would be yelling at you right now if he could, and even if he does not, your father will when he learns that you left your guard behind again."

Legolas sighed. "I do not need to be watched over. I do not care if I was taken prisoner by orcs and whatever Ogol truly was. That is not going to happen again."

No, it wouldn't, but that was because both Ogol and the one that had handed Legolas over to him were dead, not because all like him were gone from the land. Legolas could still be hurt, and that was why Aragorn lingered in Mirkwood even though everyone else had returned home and expected him to do so as well. He knew that he had duties and obligations elsewhere, but he could not bring himself to leave. They'd all feared for Legolas after his friend's death, and only now did it seem like the prince was returning to his former self.

"Even if it did, I have you beside me to fight for me and rescue me, as you have already proven you will," Legolas reminded him. Aragorn wanted to smile in return, but he found himself thinking of his own failures in that affair. If he had acted sooner, there would have been no need to rescue Legolas—he would never have been taken at all. "And if you do not fight now, you _will _be overwhelmed by orcs, and I will do nothing to help you as I know what you were thinking."

Aragorn grimaced as he reached for his bow. "You do not know what I was thinking. Maybe I decided that I should let you practice more since you are still recovering—"

"Varyar was the one who would joke about hiding behind me in a fight," Legolas said. "And do not think you can fool me, Estel. I see your face contort with disgust every time you think of him and my decision to forgive him. Can you not accept that he deserved to hear that before he died, even if there was some measure of doubt within me? I do not think there is any doubt, no, but after all that we both suffered there, I know he needed those words. He is at peace now, and I do not want to argue with you again."

Aragorn shook his head. "I am not trying to argue with you—"

"Then teach your face not to speak as well as you have trained your voice," Legolas told him, letting the arrow fly toward the first orc. He did not wait, switching it for his knives as he dove angrily into battle, and Aragorn grabbed his sword as he followed after him, knowing that it would be a long time before their friendship was it used to be before Legolas was taken—if it ever was.

* * *

><p>"Remind me again why we decided to do this?"<p>

"I believe, and I may be mistaken, but I believe the reason was that you were bored."

"Ah, yes," Firyavaryar agreed, smiling as he did. Nostalion gave him a look, and he laughed as he jumped down from the tree, landing on his feet and crouching down next to it. He had only wanted to climb the tree for the view it would grant him. He knew that there was no point in remaining in it. He had never been as comfortable in the trees as a certain wood elf he had known, and he was no archer.

The former assassin came up beside him, and if Varyar was not used to his stealth, he would have been startled enough to jump when the other elf spoke. "When I married your sister, I do not remember taking a vow to keep you from getting your reckless self killed."

Varyar could have claimed that the vow was implicit in the ones that he had spoken, or that perhaps they shared some in their unofficial alliance, but he knew that Nostalion would not agree with him. "No one asked you to come."

"Your sister would not allow you to leave alone. We have lost you before, Varyar. That is not an acceptable outcome."

Firyavaryar did not tell his _gwador _that it had been for him. He did not need to—Nostalion already knew. He knew that Varyar had wanted it, that he had been denied it, for reasons that he still did not understand. Firyavaryar did not know if the Valar had done it or if he was simply too bad at dying to manage it—he should have been dead centuries ago, and were he mortal he would have been. He should have succumbed to the disease he carried within him by now.

"And if she loses you? Equally unacceptable."

Nostalion nodded. "Agreed. Therefore we must not allow either of us to fall."

Amused, Firyavaryar smiled even in the face of Nostalion's annoyance. No one had told him that he was allowed to be amused, but while Varyar had been raised and trained to protect his family, the same responsibility laid upon Nostalion as a child, his parents had also shown him love and his siblings had made certain that he knew how to laugh. Others had tried to take that from him, and he knew some had succeeded, but now he was free, and even if he frustrated Nostalion with his humor, he would not stop. He did manage to make his brother laugh, too, and that was a greater victory than most.

"Yes," he agreed with mock severity. "Then why are we going into this folly?"

"Boredom," Nostalion answered, and there was a faint smile upon his lips. "The most dangerous of all reasons."

"Indeed," Varyar agreed with a laugh, knowing that Idhrenion would agree with that. His younger brother knew well the sort of trouble that Firyavaryar could create when he became bored, the sort of pranks that had amused a prince and make him the enemy of guards and tutors alike. "Where are they?"

"Not far, but we are too close to Greenwood for my liking. Again."

Though there was some risk to this proximity, this was where Firyavaryar knew that they must be. Nostalion would not agree, but Varyar had much to atone for, and though hunting orcs along the outer border of Greenwood was not much of a way to repay a debt that could not be repaid, he would still do it until he found another means of assuaging his guilt. "You worry too much. I do not know how Sérëdhiel tolerates it."

"Her mind is on other things when she is with me," Nostalion said, and Varyar bowed in acknowledgment of the other elf's victory. That was a detail he did not need to know about his sister. He found it worse that Idhrenion had managed a living reminder of his activities with Alassë, and he supposed that was the other reason why he and Nostalion had left the others—they had no desire to be around their home when Alassë was so near birthing the child.

"If the orcs get any nearer the border, we will have to turn back," Nostalion said, bringing Varyar mercifully back to their hunt. "And before you ask, no, I will not let you go any closer and not alone."

Firyavaryar smiled. "You know that I am not defenseless, and I do not worry about straying into Greenwood now. Should anyone see me, they will assume me a spirit. You, though, you they might shoot in their paranoia. You are not presumed dead."

"No, I am not that sort of fool."

That should have annoyed Firyavaryar, but he was not bothered by the statement. Others would see what he had done as foolishness. He deemed it necessary, and as much as he did not like all of his choices, he knew that he would make them again. "Have I mentioned how I adore your company? You are so optimistic and cheerful—"

"Should I say the same about you?"

"Yes." Varyar laughed, and Nostalion shook his head. Both of them had a tendency to be dour, but Varyar was enjoying his freedom from the oppressive domestic atmosphere of their home, perhaps too much, but he would not regret this. Leaving the others was for the best for all concerned. The assassin might have killed someone before the baby was born, and that was not acceptable. That, and Varyar thought Nostalion might be afraid of Sérëdhiel having one of _their _own. Varyar could not have children, and for that he thought he was grateful.

"Come. They have stopped, and since it is dark enough for them to be marching, that is somewhat troubling. Let us see what they are doing."

"They are orcs," the assassin said, still annoyed. "What does it matter what they do?"

Rather than argue over why they were here or what he owed Legolas, Firyavaryar looked over at the trees and then back at his companion. "Because they are fun to kill?"

Nostalion withdrew his daggers with another slight smile. "There is that."

Varyar grinned, removing a glove. 


	2. Conversations with Friends and Family

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Two<br>Word Count:** 4,519**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I was looking again at timelines and groaned because there is no real way, after the mistake I made with _Storms, _of fitting this to a book verse timeline. I think, if people are willing to overlook the issue with my timing or perhaps I could say that the events on one part of the story do not necessarily add up to when the other events are happening or maybe I could just claim AU and not worry about it (though that always feels like cheating to me.)

I was confused by how much time I thought there was between the search for Gollum and when the fellowship happens, I shall say. I thought it was longer between them and when I decided that was the first real canon event to base things around, it made sense. Now, having looked at timelines for Aragorn and Gollum and other things, I see it does not, but if we forgive that, it works. Can that be forgiven?

That way Legolas and Aragorn have time to sort out their mess before the fellowship, and that is good, isn't it?

* * *

><p><strong>Conversations with Friends and Family<br>**

The silence had stretched between them for almost a day now, and Legolas did not know how to close the gap. In those first few days after Firyavaryar's death, he had avoided everyone, though he had been unable to avoid Lord Elrond, who had healed his wounds. It was not until Sérëdhiel had told him that they were leaving that he was willing to see anyone. He had sought out his father and begun healing the wounds in his spirit, but it had been Estel's presence that had seen him through the months that followed. He had relied on Estel's support and friendship to endure those days, but as they lingered, so did their growing distance.

The longer he grieved for Varyar, the more he angered Estel.

He did not want to upset him, but he could not change how he felt. Firyavaryar was his oldest friend, oldest closest friend, at least, and the bond forged by the way they had lost their mothers, a pain not understood by many. True, the twins had lost their mother to an Orc attack, she had sailed, but while they blamed themselves for what happened, they had not witnessed it, they did not know themselves to be the reason for her death—not the same way that Legolas and Varyar did. Estel had lost his father, but he barely knew him. He knew Elrond as his father, not Arathorn.

It was not the same.

It was worse for Firyavaryar.

Legolas understood now so many things he had questioned in the past, and he had seen and felt the horror that Varyar had known, had been tortured by the same monster that his friend had faced. Legolas knew what Firyavaryar knew, what Estel should know because he had heard the words from that monster himself—had Firyavaryar given _Estel _to Ogol, he would have been dead. No, Legolas understood why Varyar had chosen the way he did, but Estel would not accept that as he had.

He did not know how to change it. They could not seem to reconcile their different opinions.

"You seem troubled, young Thranduilion."

Legolas lifted his head, turning back to his doorway with a smile. He should not have been so preoccupied as to let the wizard come that close without his notice, but he did not know that he would be otherwise these days. His lingering grief and his problems with Estel kept his mind from most other matters.

"Mithrandir. It is good to see you."

"Is it?"

Legolas nodded. Even if he had been fresh in his grief for Varyar, he would have said so. He wanted to have more than sorrow, wanted to speak of his loss with someone who knew and _liked _Varyar instead of blaming him or even despising him. That had been something that he should done more of with Lord Elrond before he left. He knew that despite Firyavaryar's faults, he had impressed the lord of Imladris and Elrond did like him, even if he had not adopted him as a son as he had Estel.

"Yes, it is," Legolas told the wizard. "I could use some company, perhaps even some wisdom. I do not know how to fix things. I cannot change how I feel. Estel cannot change how he feels. And we do not agree."

"And what subject causes you such division?"

"Friendship. Betrayal. Forgiveness."

Mithrandir leaned against his staff, studying Legolas as he did. "Weighty subjects."

Legolas crossed back to his bed and sat down, shaking his head. He did not know how much Mithrandir knew—more than he would say, most of the time, but he might not know about Firyavaryar's death. Even if he did, he might not know the details, and most people still knew nothing about the actual betrayal. That was how Legolas wanted it.

"Estel does not believe that I should have forgiven Firyavaryar, but I cannot do otherwise," Legolas said. He had given the matter much consideration, and he still returned to the same conclusion. He _did _forgive. He _wanted _to forgive. "Varyar was my friend, a good friend, and I owe my life to him. I know he made a choice that infuriates Estel, and it _did_ grieve me. I was hurt. I still am."

"Such wounds go deep, deeper than we can imagine before they are given," Mithrandir agreed, sitting down beside him. "Yet they are not impossible to recover from. One can even learn to trust again after such an offense."

"I think that is what makes Estel so angry, the idea that I _could _trust Varyar again, that I _would. _I believe that it is more important to let go of that pain and resentment than it is to draw away from that sort of pain," Legolas said, having learned that lesson back when his mother died. He had withdrawn from his father and caused them both more pain than was necessary. That distance had not helped him. It had not made him stronger. He had just lost time with his father that if he had with his mother he would have treasured. Firyavaryar had come when Legolas needed him, and he, Sérëdhiel, and Idhrenion were the reason why Legolas had been able to open up to anyone again. He had needed their friendship, and he still wanted it. "Some things cannot be changed, and some people I do not want to trust, but when I can, I believe I should. We have too much in our lives that is painful, and why should we add to that? We live in a time of growing darkness, and my people fade. Why should I add to that pain by keeping a grudge? It would avail me nothing. Varyar is dead."

"And if young Firyavaryar were not dead?"

That was difficult. Legolas thought he wanted that more than anything, but he did not know that he could explain how he felt about Varyar returning. He wanted it so much—and yet he did not. Yes, he wanted Firyavaryar alive. He did. He could not say that he knew how he would react if he saw him again—he knew that if _Estel _saw him, it would not be pleasant—and he knew that things would never be as they were, not after the centuries and the torture, but Legolas would have him alive if he could choose. "I would not bear him ill will. I do not."

"No?"

"I miss him, Mithrandir. I have missed him for centuries already, but to know that he is gone, that I will never see him again, never hear his laughter or see his smile..." Legolas lowered his head. Those memories from his childhood were treasured. "It is not only those things. I also miss the comfort of his understanding. He was wiser than he should have been, and now I know why he was. I pity him, though I know he would hate that."

Mithrandir nodded. "Indeed."

Legolas frowned. What did the Istari know that he did not? Was it something that Firyavaryar had told him when they were children? Or was it something more recent? Did he know of where Varyar had been between when he left Greenwood and when he stumbled back across its border? Did it even matter if he did?

"Why have you come?"

"I find myself in need of a tracker."

Legolas would have thought that the wizard could find whatever he wanted on his own, but if he needed a tracker, then a fine was available to him. "You want Estel?"

"Perhaps."

That would be Legolas' suggestion. As a ranger and brother to Lord Elrond's sons, Estel had the training for tracking, and he was better than most, and that was not better than most humans, but better than most trackers that Legolas knew. "It might be for the best if Estel were to go for a time. I think he would like to accompany you."

"Would he? Then I shall ask him."

"Ask me what?" Estel's voice held an air of suspicion, and Legolas did not know how much of what they had said he had heard, but he did not think that it was good, regardless of what he had heard.

Mithrandir rose. "I am in need of a tracker. There is a creature I must locate."

"Is there?" Estel did not sound pleased. "A shame you did not come sooner. There was one here that could track beyond the sight of elves, beyond the sight of even someone like _Ada _or Lady Galadriel. He could find a person anywhere in Middle Earth as long as he knew them."

"Is that so? That is an interesting trick."

"It was no trick," Estel told him. "Without that one, we might never have found Legolas again."

"I would hear more of this," Mithrandir said, and Legolas grimaced, for it was a tale he did not think he wanted to hear.

"Excuse me. I think I am needed by my father."

* * *

><p>"Has it happened yet?"<p>

"No, Varyar, what you left to avoid has not yet occurred," Sérëdhiel said, shaking her head as she let him into their home. "I am afraid that you will have to attempt another trip, though Idhrenion has threatened to tie you _and _Nostalion to anything he can find as Alassë is threatening to cut the child out herself if it does not come soon."

Nostalion gave Firyavaryar a look, and he would have spoken if his wife had not distracted him, welcoming him home with a kiss. Varyar turned away, having no desire to watch them. He was fond of both of them, but he did not enjoy seeing the affection between them. He knew that they had a strong bond, and he admired it, but he was still a brother who did not want to think that way about his sister.

He passed into the other room, ready to find his bed and stay there for a few days. As much as he felt the journey had been worth taking, as much as he had enjoyed thinning the numbers of orcs near Greenwood and felt his work was necessary—for his sake as well as for the kingdom that he owed a great debt to—he knew that he was not as strong as he needed to be for that work.

His body had never healed from what Draugminaion had done to it, and the fall that should have killed him as it did Ogol had not improved on his poor health. He did not know how he had managed to survive the fall or what the disease seemed to do to him constantly, but it was either a true curse that he lived through it or he was being strangely blessed. He considered it more of a curse, and he still did not understand why he had lived with the same poison flowing through him.

"I hope you told them that there would be two children running around here if they did not stop that," Idhrenion muttered, shaking his head at Sérëdhiel and Nostalion. "How did this happen?"

Firyavaryar looked at him. "Little brother, if you do not know how you became a father, I think you were more damaged by your time in captivity than we knew. Your mind must have been forever damaged—or Alassë managed to find her someone who _was _capable of it and knew what he was doing."

"That is not amusing."

"I suppose it would not be, but if you were so afraid of becoming a parent, you should never have bonded in the first place. Do not look at me like that—I may not desire children, but I am not fortunate to have a malady that makes that impossible—and if you think about it, I have already raised mine," Varyar said, reaching up to rub at his neck. "Nothing can prepare you for what it is like, so you can only do what you will when the questions and crises arise."

Idhrenion looked at him. "You would be—and have been—a good father. I do not think that I will ever manage that. It took me over a century to realize I loved Alassë. How am I supposed to care for a child?"

"You may forget any clever ideas of having me do it," Varyar told him, and his brother glared at him. "I have done my part, and you are grown enough to raise your own children now."

"I do not know how to do this," Idhrenion whispered. "I am certain to do it wrong. I cannot raise a child. All I know how to do is read."

"Then you will spend a great deal of time reading to your helpless offspring."

Idhrenion glared at him. "I hate you."

Firyavaryar laughed. Were they both younger, he would have pulled Idhrenion close to him and held him, but they were children no longer, and he knew that his brother would find a way to raise his child without any assistance from others. That was what all parents did. He would think, despite the way Idhrenion was acting now, that he had helped prepare him as much as anyone could be for this part of his life—he knew his brother had more time and preparation than he himself had for the responsibility that had fallen to him.

"Go in to Alassë. Talk to her of your fears. It will not help to pretend you have none. She knows you, and she knows of them already, but it did take two of you to create the situation. The two of you will have to resolve it."

Idhrenion sighed. "How did you manage to seem so calm when you had to care for us? _Nana _and _Ada _were dead, and you were still a child yourself, but you somehow made it seem as though you did not feel it, that you were not afraid, that you could do anything that we needed—and you often did."

"I was too afraid of Ogol to fear anything else," Varyar admitted. "What I had to do, I did. That is why I am telling you that you that you find your way when you are already in it—everyone does."

Idhrenion wrapped his arms around him, making certain to rest his head on the fabric and not near Varyar's skin. "I do not know what we would have done if you had died when Ogol did. Maybe we are all too dependent on you, but how could I hope to face being a father without the brother that was more mine than _Ada _was?"

"Alassë will see to it that you are the father you need to be," Varyar said. "You should be with her, not me, even if I have just returned."

"Which, in the dialect that you speak, means that you exhausted yourself again, maybe got wounded, and you want to rest so that Sérëdhiel does not learn of it." Idhrenion let go, straightening up with disgust on his face.

Varyar was tired, but he was not injured, not any more than usual. "Sérëdhiel is busy."

"I suppose it will be nice that my child will have one to play with," Idhrenion muttered, shaking his head as he walked down to the room he shared with Alassë. Firyavaryar grunted, pushing himself away from the wall and going toward his own room.

* * *

><p>Aragorn did not intend to let his mind stray when he listened to Mithrandir speak—it had been almost easier to be the one telling the tale, though he did wonder if Legolas would return at all from his false errand for his father—but after recounting the events that lead to Legolas' capture and torture and later rescue, he found himself drawn into the same ugly thoughts that had made Legolas leave him in the first place. He did not want to do this, but as much as he tried, he did not know how to forgive Firyavaryar as Legolas had done—and that forgiveness made him angry. What had the elf done to deserve that?<p>

Killed Ogol and saved everyone from his evil, everyone would argue, but Aragorn could not answer why that was not enough. Why did he expect more? No one else seemed to—he thought Elladan and Elrohir had already reached the same state as Legolas, they had forgiven, so why could Aragorn not? Because he was a man, not an elf? Was that the reason?

"Your thoughts are far from our discussion."

"Forgive me, Mithrandir," Aragorn said, letting out a breath. "I know the tale you have told me before—indeed, I have heard several versions of the tales of Bilbo Baggins in my time in the Shire, for most have passed along the story, even if they doubt the truth of it and think him an unnatural sort of hobbit for such wanderlust."

"And so I fear he is, for a great many hobbits would not bother leaving the shire—or even their own front door," the wizard agreed, smiling slightly. "Yet there is much in hobbits that is not only good but admirable, enjoyable to watch and spend time in company with—some hobbits, at least."

"I think that is true of all races—some are worthwhile companions, and some are not."

"Then we return to the subject that troubles you," the Istari said, studying him for a long moment. "Some time has passed since this time you spoke of when Legolas suffered, and much healing has taken place since then. I am told that the underground tunnels and chambers were sealed up, and the chasm has been covered over, and some new grass has begun to grow, as though healing the wounds of more than the land."

Aragorn nodded. That was, at least in part, true, but he did not think that place was healed as much as hidden. This time it was obscured to keep the prince from remembering it and not because it belonged to an evil that preferred the shadows, but he thought that place was one where a mark would always exist to taint the land—if only in the memory of the elves.

Or it would, if Legolas had bothered to tell _anyone _that Firyavaryar had betrayed him to Ogol. Most of the elves in Mirkwood still held the mistaken belief that both elves had been prisoners—and Legolas insisted that was true—not hearing one word of the betrayal.

Perhaps that was why Aragorn found himself angry with his friend's actions. "Why does he conceal what Firyavaryar did if he is so forgiving? He seems to believe that does not matter, so why, if it does not matter, does he not tell everyone of it?"

"Loyalty to his friend's memory, perhaps, or perhaps it is that he does not want the kingdom to share your reaction. If you cannot accept this, why should anyone else? He would not be given peace in his grief—all would tell him that he should not grieve one who betrayed him, as you yourself feel. The truth may yet be known to all, though I do not know. It would be difficult to convince young Thranduilion to speak of it when it could mean others coming to harm," Mithrandir said, and Aragorn frowned. "You have not forgotten that Legolas claimed Varyar's family as his own and they him, have you? Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and their mates would be at risk if Firyavaryar's actions were known to certain parties, and Legolas wishes for them to return safely. He wanted them to stay."

"When they left, at first I was relieved. I thought it was better. Then I saw how much he was hurting when he let me close again, and I was angry with them for going. What kind of friendship did they give him?"

"I fear it is a common trait in the line of Erurainon and Calathiel that protection comes in distance, in sparing pain by avoidance. That was how _gildin _always was with Thranduilion. Close yet so separate, as much as one could manage and yet inseparable as well."

"_Gildin?"_

"He is a spark—a catalyst, and I fear we will see that much more in the days to come," Mithrandir said. "This is the beginning, and the end may be long in coming. We must hope that we are able to last until those days."

Aragorn nodded. If this was what the wizard believed it to be, then dark days were ahead of them all. "We need speak no more of my conflict with Legolas and his fallen friend. There are other matters of greater weight for us to worry about."

"First we must rid you of this distraction."

"It is not as simple as speaking one of your spells," Aragorn objected. He had tried to let go of his frustration, but he had not managed it. "I have not found a way to overlook what happened, and I find myself repeating those thoughts whenever I think of what Firyavaryar did and what Legolas suffered. I suppose that you will suggest that I simply not think of it?"

"No."

"No?"

"You must find your own path to forgiveness—this wrong was not done to you, but if you cannot forgive it, how will you forgive those done to you? How will that affect you should you become king? A king without mercy is a tyrant."

Aragorn grimaced. That was true, but he was not a king yet, and he did not have to forgive one dead elf. "I will go find this Gollum you seek, and we will learn if he did have the one ring."

* * *

><p>"<em>Don't," Firyavaryar whispered, not wanting to beg, but he knew that he was begging, that he would always beg when it came to this monster. He had begged when his mother died, and he would beg now, if only because he thought begging would show that he was submissive, and if he pretended that he was, then he could go to his siblings. Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion could be fading now, but Ogol did not seem to remember them, too intent on hurting Varyar instead.<em>

"_Why not? I doubt you have a convincing reason, but do try, pet. Try."_

"_Because only a coward tortures someone while hiding under those robes. Show your face. You aren't afraid of me seeing it, are you?"_

Muttering curses to himself in Draugminaion's twisted version of the black speech, Varyar forced himself out of the bed. He had not woken to one of these dreams in at least half a century, if not longer, and he did not want to be awakened by them again, but if they were as he remembered, he would find no rest for the next few years.

He did not understand—Draugminaion was dead. Even if what Ogol had told Legolas was true, if he had kept the monster alive to torture him, Legolas thought that the prisoner was dead and the cavern's collapse should have ensured that he was.

Varyar had wanted to watch the wood elves search the caverns and be certain of both deaths, but he must have been carried off by Nostalion at Sérëdhiel's request, and he had not seen any of the evidence that the elves recovered.

He pushed open the door to the common room, frowning at the light, but perhaps Idhrenion was up reading, worried over his child again. Something squeaked, and he frowned when he realized it was Eruaistaniel.

"I did not intend to frighten you."

She wrapped her arms around her legs. "I could not sleep again. You did not wake me."

"That is not what I said—I said I did not intend to frighten you," Firyavaryar corrected, and for a moment she had a small spark in her eyes, the sort of retort that Alassë would give on her tongue, but she did not say it. He considered asking if it was orcs or men that had caused her nightmares tonight, but he stopped himself as he got closer. Tears. Perhaps she was thinking of Tegalad, though in Varyar's opinion, she should be glad of escaping that fate. Marriage to him would have been enough to make anyone fade.

"I did not tell you I was glad you had returned."

"You do not have to. I intend to leave again, and I should spare you the platitudes of each departure and their returns, if they should happen," he said, sitting down next to her on the longer bench. "I would tell you that you seem improved from the last time I was here, but I cannot see much of you, so I think I would be lying."

"I would rather not be seen."

He reached over, touching a gloved hand to her arm. "What the men did does not mean that you are not someone who should be seen. Sérëdhiel would be very angry to hear you speak of yourself that way. You are not scarred in body but in spirit, and those wounds cannot be seen. Why hide in the shadows?"

She pulled away from him. "You know how it feels to be in constant shadow."

He frowned. "Are you—do you regret staying when you learned I had not died? If you are suffering so greatly, I think that you could take their boats. They cannot be so stubborn as to turn you away, not in your condition."

"Condition?"

"Depression?" He almost nudged her, but he knew that she would not respond well to the gesture. "Come now, _bereth. _What do you have to despair over? I am the one that has been... disfigured, after all. You are still the _elleth _that was the cause of a civil war within your family."

"Your hair is longer," she said, reaching up to touch it, and Varyar stiffened, unused to the contact as well as bothered by her words.

"My hair has not grown back in more than a century."

"Perhaps I am being foolish, then," she said, lowering her hand and then her head. "I must have imagined that it was longer."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Not since before you left."

He grimaced, knowing he lacked the strength to carry her back to her room where she should be. "You cannot place all your hope in me. I have already disappointed one who did, and he was tortured because of me. So were you. You must find a way to sleep without having me near—I have already broken my promise to protect you."

She shook her head. "It was not only you that was gone. Nostalion was, and we were... defenseless. You cannot do that to us. One of you needs to stay here."

He grimaced. He knew no one would let him leave on his own, but she was right. He could not take Nostalion with him, not when they would have only Sérëdhiel for protection. He would have to find another means of making reparations to Legolas.


	3. Discussing Departures

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Three<br>Word Count:** 3,864**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I suppose now I should say that this is "officially" AU. It was the moment I decided that Aragorn did not go hunting Gollum alone. Since there is not a lot of information about what Legolas was doing at the time or an explanation for why Gollum was taken to Mirkwood, it is not impossible. It might even make sense.

Though... a part of me is still wondering if maybe I should have made these short episodes instead of going for a united story/plot or if I should have started with the ideas I had for the trilogy or even just after Gollum is captured. I realized this seemed to have a bit less action than _Storms, _at least in the first bit, and I know that's because there's still so much set up to be dealt with. At least I threw in some humor to make that set up more enjoyable. I hope.

* * *

><p><strong>Discussing Departures<strong>

"You could come with," Aragorn began, knowing that the elf had heard him approaching. With things as strained as they had been, he decided to consider himself fortunate that Legolas hadn't left when he heard him coming up behind him.

"I do not know that I should," Legolas answered. "Perhaps it would be better if we spent time apart. We may only feel this tension because we have been around each other for so long. You have your duties to the rangers—you have even fought for Gondor and Rohan—and I am a prince of Greenwood. This land's safety is my priority, even as much as I enjoy seeing other realms. I am meant to stay here, and you are meant to wander, at least for now."

Aragorn shook his head. "I know it is not because I 'wander' that you want me to go. You are still angry with me."

"I am not certain that anger is the right word for it, though in some ways, I think you are more of a child than you were when I first knew you," Legolas told him. "Has war made you so bitter that you are unwilling to forgive? Where is the boy that would cause all that great mischief with his twin brothers? I have been trying desperately to hold onto my own hope, but I did not see how much of yours you had lost."

Aragorn frowned. "I did not lose hope—"

"You still hoped that you would find me, yes. You still hoped that I would be alive. You did not abandon me, but it was your faith in others that faltered. From the moment we met with Firyavaryar, you distrusted him, and not even my assurance was enough for you. I do not know if that was the dream or something else, but you did not even trust me to know my friend."

"You hadn't seen him in centuries, Legolas. You knew nothing of what he was and you said you felt something of the shadow in him. I was right not to trust him."

Legolas shook his head. "Whatever else had changed about Varyar, one thing _was _constant. He was loyal to his family. Always. That I knew I could trust, that did not alter, and yes, I could have seen his betrayal coming because I knew the choice he would make. I told you that mere hours before my capture. I _knew. _I knew, and I did not stop. Why is it you only blame him?"

Aragorn wanted to react in anger, wanted to tell him he was a fool for taking the blame and for defending Firyavaryar again, but he forced himself not to, not wanting to prolong this fight between them. He wanted his friend back—not that Legolas had gone, but things were not the same even when he was present—and he thought Legolas wanted their relationship back to the way it had been before as well. He did not know that he understood the anger he felt, and his conversation with Mithrandir had left him feeling the same.

"What is happening, Legolas? What is this shadow that has fallen upon our friendship?"

"It is not Firyavaryar. Even if he lived, he had not that power. I do not see how it could have been Ogol—he did not know of our close friendship and would not seek to break it. Perhaps something else is at work. You are about to set out after a creature that we believe may have had the ring of power. That may have increased the doubts and fears in your own mind, but I do not know that it can only be that as Mithrandir made the request of you yesterday and this has been growing between us for some time now."

"We know that Sauron's power is growing."

"Do we believe that he would seek to divide us? To what purpose? If he knew where you were, it would be simpler to have you killed," Legolas said, frowning. "I cannot see his intent in driving apart our friendship. I would like it to be the work of the shadow, but I fear it is something that we ourselves have done—me in my grief and you in your frustration."

"_Ada _said that perhaps Firyavaryar's actions were meant to prepare you for a later time," Aragorn said, not liking that suggestion much. "I do not know that I agree with that—why would I _want _to if it means that you must endure torture again? No. That will not happen as long as I am with you. I will not allow it."

Legolas managed a smile. "I know you would try, and I know you still blame yourself for this first round of torture, but I promise you, this was not your doing, nor could I ever blame you. I blame Ogol alone for what was done to me."

"I know."

The elf turned away, familiar but unspoken words—arguments that they had already had several times—hanging in the air between them. "Have you considered that the lesson in all of this was never meant for me?"

"What, for Firyavaryar?"

"It would have been a poor one considering that he is dead," Legolas said, sounding a bit annoyed. "What if the person it was meant for was you, Estel?"

"Me?"

"Why not? You are to rule the reunited kingdoms. You will be on the throne of Arnor and Gondor someday, and you have a great many tests to face before then. The mark of a king, my father has told me before, is not in his blood, for blood cannot make the choices that we must make. It is not in how well you fight or how diplomatic you are. It is in making and living with the difficult decisions."

"There is wisdom in that."

Legolas laughed. "Do not act as though it is so surprising that my father has wisdom. He is a good king and a good father, and he has been for centuries longer than you have been alive. He has faults, and I cannot deny them, but I love him."

Aragorn held up a hand. "Peace. I was not trying to insult your father, though I did see you grimace when you said the words—"

"The last time I repeated them was for Varyar," Legolas said. "I told him that in the throne room not long before he... Well, his reaction was similar. He said my father was wise."

"Perhaps we need a bit of that wisdom to help us now. Though... I admit I would rather ask Mithrandir."

"Coward," Legolas muttered, and they both laughed.

* * *

><p>"<em>Perhaps we should have stayed in Greenwood," Sérëdhiel said, frowning at the village. "I knew we would not be welcome in our former home, but I did not think we would be forced into this again. No good has ever come of us living near men."<em>

"_I do not want to stay here any more than you do, but I cannot walk any further," Alass__ë __said, her hand on her stomach. "I would make my husband carry me if he was good for carrying anything other than books."_

_Idhrenion glared at her. "You are fortunate that I love you. Not only have your moods been insufferable these last few months, but your insults have spread to everyone, and if you do not stop that, your cousin will remember his training and silence you."_

"_He is only not carrying you because he is still healing himself," Eruaistaniel said, leaning against Nostalion for support. Alassë __was not the only one who needed rest. _

_Sérëdhiel shook her head, touching her brother's arm. "Stop it. I know that bickering is your favorite activity, but that must cease while we are here. This is dangerous enough without the two of you behaving in a way that draws more attention to us."_

"_We should not linger," Nostalion said, his eyes going to the group of men outside the tavern. "If we are stopping for the night, then we must do so before we gather everyone's attention."_

"_I think that it would be better if we could find a place to stay for longer than a night," Sérëdhiel admitted. "The baby will come soon, and traveling has been difficult for Idhrenion and Eruaistaniel as well."_

"_I told you that you could return to Greenwood if you wanted," Varyar said from the back of their group. "We are close enough to their borders again for that journey, and perhaps it would be best to take it."_

_Sérëdhiel frowned. If they were to return to Greenwood, it would be without Firyavaryar. She understood that, but she hated it as well. She would rather take Alass__ë __to the elven realm for the birth of her child, but Varyar would not go there after betraying Legolas. She knew that the prince would forgive him, but he would not forgive himself. "No. We will not leave you again, Varyar."_

"_I will go get us lodgings for the next month, then," he said, slipping past them and going toward the men. Sérëdhiel shuddered. She knew why her brother cared for most of their dealings with other races—his eyes tended to make those that he dealt with fear something far worse than the possibility of him being an elf, and they did not question why he remained covered._

"_If this child takes a month to come, I will cut it out myself," Alassë __said. She turned to Idhrenion. "You are never touching me again."_

"_I do not _want _to," he muttered, and she sighed as she sagged against him. He wrapped an arm around her, and Nostalion frowned at both of them._

"_I know we could not continue this night, but I do not like this," she said, and her husband nodded, shifting his cousin into his arms as she tried weakly to protest. Eruaistaniel sighed, and Sérëdhiel reached over to cover her ears with her hair again._

"_I hate that I am the reason we must stop," Alassë __said, though if Eruaistaniel had more spirit, she would have argued the blame there. "I was never a burden before I was pregnant."_

"_Children are not burdens," Sérëdhiel said, thought there was a part of her that was glad that she was not the one carrying the child. She did not know that Nostalion would want children in the future, not after the way he was raised, but she did not think she herself would be opposed to it, if they were to have a child later._

"_If you were, I would have left you both behind centuries ago," Varyar said as he rejoined them. "They were willing to rent us a place outside the village, but I think we will have to repair it again, as usual."_

"_Wonderful," Idhrenion said, grimacing as he adjusted Alassë__'__s place in his arms. "I thought the point was for us to stop somewhere to rest."_

"_Those that need it will get it," Varyar told him. "Be fortunate. They assumed that I came here to die. We might not have gotten anything at all. As it is, however unfortunate the state of the structure, it is remote enough to give us privacy for as long as we are here. Same with my 'illness.'"_

_Idhrenion nodded, but his posture had gotten stiff, the way it always did when Firyavaryar mentioned anything close to him dying. Varyar liked to say that Sérëdhiel was the part of the family that held them all together, but she knew that he was. If they had lost him when Ogol died, they would not have known how to continue on. He was still so much to them. Brother and father and friend._

"_At least it is close to Greenwood. If anything should go wrong, we can go there for help," Sérëdhiel said, trying to accept Varyar's decision, the first to follow after him as he started toward their new residence._

"_Mirkwood."_

_Varyar stopped, looking back at Nostalion. "What?"_

"_The humans call Greenwood Mirkwood. If we are going to live among them, we should use the same name," Nostalion told him. "All of us should."_

"_I do not think I could ever call Greenwood by that name," Idhrenion said, grimacing, and Sérëdhiel nodded in agreement. She would always see her time in Greenwood with Prince Legolas as one of the better times in her life, and she would never consent to call their paradise by the horrible name that __men gave it._

* * *

><p>Mithrandir was not difficult to find, thanks to his pipe—the stench carried for a great distance even though it was not within the palace walls. Legolas figured his father would have to renew his edict about no pipeweed and threaten to have all who tried to bring it into his land imprisoned, giving the guards patrolling the borders orders to search everyone for it before allowing them passage into his kingdom. The wizard must have forgotten that threat, though Legolas supposed he must not have thought that Thranduil would mean it.<p>

Legolas was all too certain that his father _would _do it. He did not know of any soldier in the kingdom that would object to the order. He could not think of one elf who enjoyed the smell of pipeweed. He should have asked Varyar or his companions. Did Avari find it any easier to tolerate than the wood elves?

The wizard looked up from his smoke, amused despite the frown that he gave Estel. "I see you have delayed your departure."

"For a while, yes," Estel answered the Istari, glancing toward Legolas, who smiled. He knew what had delayed the man from leaving as early as he had planned. "I have things that must be seen to first."

"He still wants to convince me to join him," Legolas explained. "I have yet to tell him no in a way that will satisfy him."

"I see." Mithrandir rose. "I think that may prove a prudent course."

"Prudent?" Legolas shook his head. "I do not think it wise. We have been quarreling because of our proximity. It is best that we spend our time apart. Besides, I have no desire to risk my life tracking a creature such as Gollum."

"You know little of what sort of creature he is, young Thranduilion."

Chastised, Legolas lowered his head. He had heard nothing more than secondhand tales, and they were not the sort to judge anyone by, as he well knew. He had wanted Estel to forgive, and yet he had committed a similar fault in judgment. He had spoken with prejudice, and he knew not to do so—this was a familiar failing of his. He had yet to overcome his dislike for dwarves.

"Still, I do not think that we should spend any more time together just now," Legolas said, swallowing down the unpleasantness in his throat. "We should do well to take what distance has offered us and use it to lessen this... division."

"Use distance to lessen a division?" Mithrandir laughed. "Beridhren would despair of your speech. He would tell you that you know logic better than that which you have just employed. As would a certain elf-maiden."

"Sérëdhiel would have kicked me," Legolas admitted, and Estel frowned at him. "I told you—she was like a sister. Do not think that she does not do the same to Idhrenion—or that she did not do so to Varyar when she felt it necessary. She is calm and logic, but she is strength and courage as well."

"And she can kick you?"

"Well, she hits sometimes, too, but she says a kick is more effective. Very logical, our Sérëdhiel."

Estel shook his head, but Legolas thought he was trying not to laugh. He should share more of the good stories with his friend. He did not know why he had not done so before—perhaps because all mention of Varyar annoyed him, but how could Estel be upset over how Idhrenion had convinced Legolas to mend his relationship with his father?

"I think that she would advise you to go with your friend."

Legolas frowned. "Why is it you want me to go? You did not ask me before—and you know that Estel is the better tracker in open ground. I tend to use what the trees tell me more than anything, and I am not certain that we will have many for me to ask."

"Yet I do not think that is all you can contribute to such a mission."

Estel turned to the wizard. "Is there something that you have not told us about this task you have set me upon? Why is it so important to you that Legolas accompany me, and if it is, why did you not say so from the beginning? What else aren't you telling us?"

Mithrandir drew himself up to his full height, frowning at Estel as he did. "You would accuse me of something now?"

"Be careful, Estel. You might not find it easy to be a king when you have been transformed."

"And who is to say that he would do that to me and not to you?"

"I accused him of nothing. I know there is a great deal that Mithrandir does not tell me, and I have come to accept that," Legolas answered. He studied the Istari for a long moment, trying to decide for himself why Mithrandir wanted him to go with Estel. "You know that even if were to agree, no one would be willing to _let _me go. The last time I left our borders, I was taken and tortured, and I have not been permitted to leave them since."

"Then you _are _willing to come with me," Estel said, and Legolas almost grimaced, caught by his own words. "I think we can find a way to distract your father _and _Ehtyarion. In fact, I believe he is standing right in front of you."

The wizard laughed, and Legolas tried not to groan.

* * *

><p>"She is worried."<p>

"I think that is what Sérëdhiel does, worries," Firyavaryar said, not looking at his brother as he leaned over the edge of the roof. Legolas would have something to say about him now preferring heights and even trees, but Varyar had chosen this place not for a vantage but because it was one of few places to be alone here. He did not know how much longer he would be able to tolerate this village. If not for Alassë and the baby, they would already have left.

"She worries because you have not announced a decision to leave."

"Alassë has not yet had the child, and she is unable to travel. That is why we settled here for the last part of her pregnancy. Then when the child comes, we shall be forced to remain as well. Is it Eruaistaniel she worries for? I do not think the _bereth _would find it pleasant to live so close to humans, but we have little alternative."

Nostalion looked at him. "Little alternative to the _edain? _You know that is not true. The prince of Greenwood wanted my wife for his court, and Lord Elrond offered to continue her education in healing if she chose to journey to Imladris."

"Would you prefer those places?"

"I cannot say as I have not seen the glory that is the last homely house," Nostalion answered. "I only mention that there were alternatives to the _edain _and pretending to be _edain _whenever we leave this forsaken place."

"Careful," Varyar warned. "You sound more like a dwarf at present."

"You are not amusing. Why have you not been trying to convince us all that you can make another journey to Greenwood's borders or Dol Guldur to kill orcs? Why have you suddenly stopped seeking your 'atonement?'"

"Eruaistaniel reminded me that when we venture out together, we leave them unprotected. That is not the vow I took. My family is not to be left unprotected. Ever." Firyavaryar closed his eyes. "What is atonement if I throw away that loyalty? I betrayed Legolas _for _them. I saved them, and I would save them again, but yet I walk away from them and leave them unprotected? That is illogical, and I do not know why Sérëdhiel allowed me to do it."

"You were dead," Nostalion reminded him, and Varyar frowned, uncertain if the other elf had sensed that or not—Nostalion should have known the entire time whether he lived or died, but if even the tracker's ability had said he was gone, then perhaps he had spent some time in Mandos' halls. He did not remember it, though.

"I am not dead." He should be, but he was not. "I do not think that I should be permitted any leniency because of my poor decisions. I am alive by some strange sort of... happenstance—I cannot claim it to be the Valar when I do not remember Mandos' halls and am not certain I believe in them."

"I was raised without faith in the Valar. I cannot tell you what you experienced."

Varyar looked at him. "You were raised without faith so that you could not question the orders that you were given or the training you endured, but you have lived your life free of your family since we escaped from Draugminaion. You have had enough time to learn of the rest of the world and form your own opinions now. Has that changed? I know Sérëdhiel chose _to _believe in the Valar, and Idhrenion seems to sometimes, but I never asked you how you felt about them."

"It has never mattered before."

Firyavaryar shook his head. "It has never been asked because you always let me talk about nothing rather than speak yourself. I cannot take your silence—anyone's silence—so I fill it in with my words, and you are glad to let it continue that way."

"There is no need for as much conversation as others seem to think."

"You did better in the isolation and silence that Draugminaion used against us than I did," Varyar said, shaking his head. He should have expected that—Nostalion was accustomed to being alone. He had always been that way, unlike Varyar, who had been close to his siblings all his life.

"This is not about Draugminaion."

"No, it is not," Varyar agreed. He frowned, looking down at the street. "However, my answer to your question will have to wait. That crowd is not a friendly one. I do not think those _edain _are pleased by how long it has taken me to die."

Nostalion cursed. "This is what comes of staying near the _edain. _It is always trouble."

"Not all _edain _are evil."

"Are you going to claim the one named hope as the one that is not? You know he hates you."

"Immaterial. He is good to Legolas," Varyar said. He grimaced. "I will go get the others and start them moving. Try not to kill the _edain _while I am gone."

Nostalion grunted. "I will not make any promises."


	4. Fears, Prejudice, and Worry

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Four<br>Word Count:** 4,088**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I do not know what it is about subplots and why they must always become so big and involved. The idea was to create a situation where some of the group ends up in Mirkwood while Legolas and Aragorn are gone hunting, but it wasn't supposed to take this long or get this complicated and threaten to derail the whole story.

Stories, though, they do what they will, and characters are the same way. No, characters are _much,_ _much_ worse.

Oh... and if you haven't read the tree incident and want to, it is the story _Family Trees._

* * *

><p><strong>Fears, Prejudice, and Worry<strong>

"Legolas?"

"Yes, Estel?"

"Do you regret coming with me?"

Looking back at his friend, Legolas shook his head. He did not know that he could regret that choice, even if their journey so far had been silent and full of the same distance that had marked their other dealings of late. He had thought that things would be different, fooled perhaps by their conversations before they left, but then the silence had settled in, mostly of Legolas' doing.

"I fear I have been preoccupied," Legolas admitted. "Though I told you that I have accepted that Mithrandir does not tell us all he knows, I find myself wondering what he has held back from us during this last visit. He seemed rather determined that I should go with you, and I do not know why."

"You think it was something more than wanting us to repair our friendship?"

Legolas had to nod. "I know that we would both like that to happen, but there are other ways of doing that, and I do not think that anyone else would consider this rift so great as to require a wizard's intervention to make _that_ happen. We have not quarreled in an irrevocable way. We can still laugh together, still enjoy each other's company. It is only one subject that divides us."

Estel nodded. "I agree, but perhaps he thought I would need your assistance in subduing Gollum for our return. We do not know that he will be willing to cooperate with us. I think the only thing that could ensure that is a lie that we would give him back the ring when we got him to your father's kingdom—not that we can and not that he would not be a fool to believe us."

Legolas watched as the ranger stopped to study the ground, turning over the grass in his hand. He was already missing the trees of his homeland. He felt the absence of their familiarity and comfort, and he knew that he would endure that until he returned.

"I am not certain that we are on the correct trail. I do not know how we will find Gollum with so little knowledge of him and where he has been."

"We could have started where he met Bilbo, though I imagine he has been gone from their long enough to where we could learn little of use."

"You are annoyed to hear me express doubts?" Legolas asked, frowning. "I assure you—I am not worried about your skill in tracking. I do find what you said about Varyar's friend Nostalion intriguing, but I did not experience it for myself. I also do not think that you should consider your abilities less because of what he can do."

Estel lifted his head. "You think I doubt myself because of that elf?"

"I do not know that you do, but I do know that you should not."

The ranger smiled. "Thank you, Legolas. You are still a very loyal friend in spite of the rift between us."

"It is not so great a rift," Legolas told him. He smiled, leaning back to breathe in the air. It had a different taste to it here. He could not decipher all of it, but he would start to miss the air of his father's kingdom if he did.

"It had seemed to be before we left."

"Perhaps that is why we were meant to go on this journey."

Estel rose, dusting off his legs. "A moment ago, you said you did not believe it was. What purpose do you think Mithrandir has in sending you from your homeland at this time? Do you believe it is something there that is the problem? Something with your father?"

"Currently, aside from my decision to leave when he did not want me to, we have agreed on almost everything. Our relations are very good, and they have been since I went to him in my grief. History has been repeated, but I will not complain, as it has done so to my advantage. My father was of great comfort to me when I lost Varyar—as have you been—and I am glad we were able to have that time together, even if the circumstances were not ideal."

"Then it is not your father. What do you believe it could be?"

"I do not know."

* * *

><p>"Take Idhrenion, Eruaistaniel, and Alassë out the back and start toward Greenwood," Varyar ordered, pushing his sister toward the door. He did not have much time before the crowd would reach Nostalion, and he knew his<em>gwador<em> well enough to know that his version of diplomacy was to use the blunt end of his dagger. At least it was not fatal, but they did not want to fight, not here.

"What is wrong?"

"There is a mob outside the door," Varyar answered, pushing open Idhrenion's door so that she would go in it. "Get them up and moving. I think we have upset our neighbors. It is best we leave."

"Not again. Why must this always happen?" Sérëdhiel asked. Firyavaryar would have blamed Ogol, but he was dead. Perhaps they were cursed by the Valar, unable to find a rushed toward the bed, reaching for the bed sheet, and then she stopped. "Where is Nostalion?"

"Out front."

She gave Varyar a dark look, and before he could catch her, she had ignored all of his orders and ran toward the front of the house. If there was one area where her logic failed, it was in her affection for Nostalion. Though Firyavaryar valued his friendship, he knew that his sister's love for him went against all reason.

"Sérëdhiel, come back," he called after her, knowing that even if the crowd was unreasonable, Nostalion could care for himself. She was supposed to take the others and go toward safety, not into the middle of the conflict. He did not care if she was the best diplomat among them. This was not a time for diplomacy. They needed to leave.

"What is happening here?" Sérëdhiel demanded, walking up to the others, and Varyar heard the sound of Alassë's sigh behind him, biting back a curse as he realized that almost all of them were there. He could not allow himself to speak the dark tongue here. That would get them all killed, but if Eruaistaniel saw this mob, she would be forced back into her darkest memories.

"You have brought a plague here," the man that Varyar had rented the house from said, glaring at him. "Three of our children are sick with some illness we have never seen before. This is your doing."

Firyavaryar pushed his way past Nostalion to face the crowd. He was the one they blamed, and he was the one that would take the punishment if there was one to be given. His sister had to stop being stubborn and lead the others away. "I assure you—it is not my doing. What I carry cannot pass to others without my touch, and I have not been near your children. If they had what I have, they would already be dead."

"Do not tell them that," Sérëdhiel said, coming toward him. He tried to force her back, but she stepped around him. "It is true that my brother has been ill, but what he has is not contagious. It cannot be spread the way you think. I have training as a healer. I can help examine the children and see if there is anything that can be done."

"Convenient," a woman scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. "You plan on curing the illness you brought here. It was all a part of your—"

"We did not come here to make anyone sick," Idhrenion interrupted, shaking his head. "Do not be foolish. My sister was trained by Lord Elrond himself. She can help you."

"Lord Elrond?"

"You have not heard of the lord of Imladris?" Idhrenion frowned. "I did not think there was anyone that did not, but he is one of the most celebrated healers in Middle Earth."

"He's an elf," the apparent leader of the group said, spitting on the ground. He turned back to Firyavaryar. "Are you elf lovers, then?"

"Worse," Varyar muttered. If he had done more talking when he was with them, if he had exchanged more than the formalities of renting the house, he would have been learned of this prejudice, but he did not do pleasantries. He had just wanted to get them a place to stay that night. He did not think they should admit that they _were _elves, not in this crowd.

"If being an elf is a problem—"

"Elves are wicked, deceitful creatures. We don't want any help from them."

"If you do not want the assistance of a healer, then let us pass in peace," Idhrenion said, pushing Alassë back behind him. "We will leave, and you will find that it had nothing to do with my brother. He is telling you the truth—if your children had what he does, they would be dead."

Varyar did not think that they would believe him unless they saw it, but if he demonstrated what he did, he would kill someone. That was not an option. He should have made another trip before their return, but if he had, he would not be here to help his family. Still, if he had been able to replenish his supplies—he would rather have put the mob to sleep, but he had not had a chance to go where the herbs he needed for that blend grew best, not since he fell with Ogol. "Sérëdhiel, take them and go."

"No. If you have to fight—"

"We will survive," Nostalion told her, touching her arm, and Varyar hoped he could persuade her this time. "Go to Eruaistaniel, get her away from here. She should not see this."

"They're trying to escape. Stop them!"

"You want to let us go. You do not want to fight us," Varyar said, trying to decide if he should remove his glove. "We want only to leave peacefully. If you let us do this, we will not harm you. If you do not, then you will suffer."

"You poisoned our children."

"If I had touched them, they would be dead." He would have grabbed something to prove it, but unless he wanted to kill one of these _edain_ for no reason, he could not. He could not use the grass as he sometimes did. The evening was already too dark. "If any of you touch me, that same fate is yours. Let my family go."

"You lie," the closest man said, and Varyar figured him for a blacksmith, judging from his muscles and apron. He was one who thought he had the strength to go against the weak appearing elves. He grabbed hold of Firyavaryar, trying to close his arm around his neck. He saw Nostalion moving into the other part of the crowd as he tried to keep the smith's muscles from coming into contact with his skin.

Why, if he had been returned from death by Mandos, was he not cured when he was?

"Look at his ears! They're elves!"

"We are Avari," Varyar corrected, knowing that if he did not, the wood elves of Greenwood would be blamed for this. He slammed an elbow into the farrier's gut and broke his hold, knocking him back. The man fell with a thud, and he grimaced. "There. Proof that my skin is poison. Anyone else want to try and touch me?"

The crowd stilled, staring at their large fallen friend. "He killed Gûrdramm."

"That was an accident, and I did try to warn him," Firyavaryar said, touching his neck, knowing that in spite of his poisoned skin, he was bruised. "Now let us go before that happens again."

"Murderer!"

Varyar shook his head. That was an accusation that others could make of him—_not _them. He had warned them, and he had not attacked the smith. He had been attacked, and they were coming after him again. Though he did not want to kill anyone, he did not know that he had a choice. He reached for his glove, pulling one off.

He heard Sérëdhiel cry out and almost did the same as someone forced a blade into his side. Idiot. If that blood got on the ground or on that man's hand, more would die. No, more would die the longer he had to fight. That could not be stopped, not now.

* * *

><p>Aragorn sat down beside Legolas under the tree, not wanting to disturb the elf if he was conversing with it. He knew how much that meant to his friend, and he could wait. He was in need of rest himself, and he did not want to admit that to Legolas, but it was true. So far, their travel seemed fruitless. Legolas was right to doubt their success in locating the creature they sought. Aragorn had found little distinctive sign of <em>anything <em>that had passed through the area, and he did not know that he would.

They might spend years searching for Gollum and learn nothing of him at all.

Legolas laughed softly, and Aragorn turned to him with a frown. "I suppose they had something to say about me?"

"Just that humans forget to ask permission a lot."

Aragorn grimaced. "I did not mean to insult your friend. I will try to remember to ask next time."

The elf continued to smile, and Aragorn shook his head, understanding at last the joke. He did not know why he was still so easily fooled by that trick—Legolas and his brothers had done it enough to where he should not be, but then they mixed important information in with their teasing, and it was hard to know what was true and what was a part of a game.

"You haven't done that in a while."

Legolas sighed. "I had not realized how many memories reminded me of Firyavaryar. His time in Greenwood is short in the lifespan of any elf, but that does not lessen its impact. Teasing and trees often reminds me of what he did to Idhrenion, and I have always been careful not to repeat that particular prank."

"You did tell me that you would explain that sometime."

"I will, but not tonight. It is not that I think you would not be amused—well, it is difficult to say because that story is bittersweet—but it is still painful to think of. That is the Varyar I knew, and while he did show some signs of the horrors that Ogol had done to him when we were children, he could laugh then, could smile and show how much he loved his family. He was so altered when you met him that you had not the true sense of him at all," Legolas said, letting out a breath. "I do not know why this must always be the subject of our conversations."

"It has not been that long since he died, and for a mortal who expects death, it is hard to accept, but for an immortal like you, I imagine that it is even more difficult."

Legolas nodded. "So it is. Sometimes a stubborn part of me wants to try and say he is not dead, but if I do that, then I do not let myself move forward—and I torture myself by the idea that Ogol survived as well."

"That thing had better be dead. If he is not, I will find him and kill him."

"I should say something about your lust for blood, but I cannot be too upset when it is out of affection and a desire to protect me that you speak," Legolas said, giving him a smile. Then it fell. "The trees tell me that there was recently a conflict between men and elves and the elves fled toward my father's kingdom."

"A conflict between men and elves? Mirkwood elves?"

Legolas grimaced. "I cannot say that it was not some of my kin, but I do not think so, as I have heard of none of them leaving the borders for some time. It could be that they are from another realm and only sought refuge among my father's people after this conflict. The trees did not give me all the details of the encounter. They were not witness to it, but knowledge of it has passed through their branches on the wind."

"Do you want to go to the location of this conflict and investigate it?"

"The trees tell me that I should not. They fear for my safety if I do."

Aragorn frowned. "How bad was this encounter?"

"Some died. I do not know the exact count, but I do not think that another elf would be welcome there." Legolas shook his head. "We have been given a task, and we should not delay it, not for something that is not—if the elves have gone to my father, then the details will be waiting for us upon our return."

Aragorn watched the elf, wanting to know the truth behind his words. "Is that what you want? You know that we have ventured into other places that were not safe, and we are not working against a deadline. We cannot begin to guess how long it will take us to track Gollum. This delay may not be as great as either of us thinks. We can go and learn what happened, if that would ease your worries."

"I do not know. I am still concerned by the reason why Mithrandir wanted us to undertake this hunt together, now, and while I am at least curious if not worried about this encounter, I fear that whatever reason he had for sending us out to find Gollum is greater than my curiosity and fears. Indeed, if this is about the one ring, if Gollum truly had it, then we cannot delay finding him. We must know immediately—we cannot allow Sauron to find that ring."

"Let us rest for the night. If your answer is the same in the morning, we will continue our search. If not, we will investigate this conflict. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

* * *

><p>"We are not going to settle near any <em>edain <em>again," Sérëdhiel said, stopping against a tree to yank a part of her skirt free to use as a bandage over her arm. Varyar took a place against another trunk, fatigued. He watched her with anger, almost regretting his efforts to spare the people of the village. His sister was a healer, not a fighter, and she should never have been caught in the middle of that. He knew he was not the only one who was angry—Nostalion would have gone back and killed them all if he were permitted the chance. Idhrenion would have tried it. Even Alassë would have hurt them. The only one who would not have tried was Eruaistaniel.

Firyavaryar did not know why _edain _had to be so stubborn and why it was so easy for them to succumb to prejudice and fear. They would not listen to him, and he was tired of trying to explain. He had tried before, tried to tell people what he was and why he was only a danger to them if he was touched, but no one wanted to listen.

"I do not know how we will avoid such a fate if we are not welcome in the elven realms," Alassë muttered, her hand rubbing her stomach as Idhrenion held her against him, his back on the same tree as Sérëdhiel. She should be carried, though Varyar did not know if Nostalion could do it. The whole encounter had been chaotic, and Sérëdhiel had not gone through all of them to assess the wounds yet. They had been too busy trying to put distance between them and the village to care for their injuries.

Varyar grunted. "I am the one that is not welcome there. The rest of you could go to any of them and would be welcomed in at least one of them if not two."

"We have had this conversation before. We will not leave you," Sérëdhiel said, shaking her head as she looked at him. "You are wounded again."

He nodded. He would have denied it if he had the strength, but he could not. He did not know how long he would remain conscious. If the idiot who stabbed him died, he deserved it. He would not have said that for all of those present, and he knew that he had probably harmed ones that had not done anything to him, but he had not chosen to leave himself bleeding.

"I wish I had been able to see the children," Sérëdhiel whispered, lowering her head. "I could have perhaps determined how to help them or why they had fallen ill."

"Some people do not want help," Nostalion told her, reaching over to lift her chin. "You cannot blame yourself for their ignorance and fear. Were it possible to have arranged for you to examine them, I would have done it, but we are not turning back now. They will kill any of us they find—they would do the same for all elves that pass through their land, even if your brother calling us Avari."

"Why must there be so much hatred and distrust in the world?"

Varyar looked at her. "Not all of us have your goodness, Sérëdhiel. We are more petty and less deserving, and unfortunately, it is not just Avari that fall into that trap. It is all races. If not prejudice, then it is pride that divides us."

"That has never been one of your faults," Idhrenion said. "Since when have you gauged your worth with any kind of accuracy?"

"I do not think that we should argue now," Eruaistaniel began, full of hesitation. "I do not know that we can stay here."

"No, we cannot. I would say we should tend to the wounds we have as much as we can, but I do not think we have time for that as we have talked too much already," Varyar said, and Nostalion turned to him, offering him a hand to draw him to his feet.

"Do we know where we are and which way we should go?" Alassë asked, sounding pained. "I can tell nothing here, and I do not know if we fled in the correct direction."

"We do not need a map," Varyar reminded her. "Even if we could see nothing, all we need is for Nostalion to locate someone from Greenwood and lead us toward him."

"Ehtyarion," Sérëdhiel said, and her husband looked at her with a frown. "I know you do not like the idea, but he would be on guard even if he is not with Legolas, and he would allow us entry."

"He is _not _my uncle."

Firyavaryar leaned back against the tree, knowing that they needed to move before he lost all ability to do so. His own healing was always weakened by the disease within him, and he struggled to manage the effect of the cut as his body could not cope with the added injury. If he was in motion, he could keep himself moving for a time, but that would not last, and they should not have stopped, not until they knew they were safe.

He could have made certain that they were—all it would have taken was killing the entire village. He could have done it. Nostalion could have done it. They had not, but it would not change how those _edain _felt about them—about _all _elves.

Sérëdhiel shook him, and he opened his eyes, unaware of when he had closed them. She studied him for a moment and let out a breath. "I am almost relieved that is guilt and not pain that troubles you. You did try and stop it. We all did."

Varyar nodded. "We should not linger. Once again we have made enemies of our neighbors. They will come for us."

"Perhaps we should not go to Greenwood," Idhrenion said, worried. "We will lead them there and the elves of that realm will be blamed for our actions."

"I do not think we have a choice," Alassë whispered, her hand on her back and fear in her eyes. "The baby is coming."


	5. Unexpected and Unwelcome Things

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Five<br>Word Count:** 3,463**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I decided that I should add Gandalf to the main characters on this story, since he has played a larger part than I thought he would. I knew that everyone from the fellowship would be making an appearance eventually, but he started maneuvering people, and he got himself a bigger part than he was supposed to have, crafty old wizard that he is.

On the bright side, I believe that I have managed to resolve the subplot for Legolas and Aragorn, which means they can get back to their more important task of finding Gollum, and the others are in place where they need to be. Well, almost.

* * *

><p><strong> Unexpected and Unwelcome Things<strong>

"I go no further."

Sérëdhiel felt her stomach twist, and she shook her head. She had expected this, but she could not allow it. She would not separate from her brother, not now. They needed him. Alassë's child was coming, and he should be there for that. "Varyar—"

"No. I betrayed Legolas, and I do not care if he said he forgave me. His is not the only opinion that holds sway in Greenwood, and I will not have my presence endanger any of you. In my 'death,' I had redemption. If it becomes known that I am alive while you are in need of this sanctuary, you will lose it, and you may even find yourselves imprisoned because of my actions." Firyavaryar's resolve carried through into his voice, and she did not know how she could convince him to come with them. "No. I go no further. Nostalion can find me if I am needed, but I do not believe I will be."

"You cannot expect us to leave you alone when you are wounded. Varyar, this is insane," Idhrenion said, shaking his head. "It is also _wrong. _My child should not come into this world without the one who sacrificed everything for it to even be possible. I need you there. Alassë needs you there."

Varyar snorted, glancing toward where Alassë sat, panting and glaring at all of them as the pain overtook her. "Your bond does not want me there, and I am certain I will see enough of this child so as to become tired of its very existence. Go. Do not make her suffer because you are all too cowardly to proceed without me. I am not worried."

"Call me a coward again, and it is not Greenwood that you will have to fear," Nostalion told him, and Varyar laughed. Sérëdhiel shook her head, not understanding their humor—she had never liked its darkness, but she knew that bound them together as _gwedeir. _

"Go on now," Firyavaryar said. "If you do not, you will all have to fear Alassë's wrath after the child is born and she is able to move again."

Sérëdhiel grimaced. She knew that Varyar was right, but she did not like this. She rarely disagreed with her brother's orders, and this should not be one of those times, but she did not like leaving him behind. She never had, even if she knew that he could defend himself. "You are wounded."

"And only time will heal it. Go."

"Someone is coming," Nostalion said, taking her by the arm and leading her away from her brother. She wanted to pull free and yell at him, scream and call him the worst sort of names for agreeing to this separation, but she knew that they had their reasons for it. She could not forget that the last time they left Varyar, he had almost died, and she did not think they would get another miracle. He would die the next time.

"We should not leave him."

"We must. Alassë needs shelter, and they might not all be as forgiving as Legolas," Nostalion said. "And the prince is not in Greenwood, so we cannot depend on his intervention."

Sérëdhiel stopped, frowning. "Legolas is gone?"

Nostalion nodded, pulling her forward. "I do not know exactly where he is, but he is not within the borders of this land. From what I can tell, he is still in the region of Rhovanion, but that area is large, and I cannot be more specific. I cannot quite tell as my ability does not follow a map."

She knew that, and she understood it. She did not like this any more than she liked leaving Firyavaryar behind. "If Legolas is not here—"

"We will manage."

"Sérëdhiel?"

"Ehtyarion," she said, relieved to hear the elder elf's voice. Turning to face him, she forced a smile as he frowned at her. She did not know how pleased anyone from Greenwood would be to see them after the way they had left last time. "I am glad you have found us. We have had some trouble, and Alassë is ready to give birth. Can we please beg of you temporary shelter?"

The captain of the guard frowned, looking from her to Nostalion. She could not decipher anything from the look that he gave her husband—she did not know if he was glad to see his nephew again or upset with him for their current state.

"You are wounded."

"It is minor, and it is Alassë that concerns me. She should not have had to flee while in labor."

"No, she should not," the guard agreed. "We must get her back to the palace. Where is she?"

"This way."

* * *

><p>"You have come here during a dark time, stranger. What business do you have here?"<p>

"I am Strider, a ranger of the north," Aragorn answered. "I hope you will understand that my business is my own."

Beside him, Legolas shifted, betraying his discomfort. Perhaps they should not have come. Aragorn had thought it best that they did, since he knew that Legolas would have no peace until he knew what had happened to force the elves to flee to his father's lands. All the same, he _was _worried. He did not know what could have happened to this place, and if it was as bad as the trees had suggested, then Legolas himself could be at risk here. Aragorn would not let him be captured or harmed, not again.

"There aren't many that have business here."

"We were passing through," Aragorn answered, though he did not want to explain why they had chosen to do so. "We saw the smoke from your village, and something drew us closer. What has happened here?"

"Elves," the man spat with anger. "Filthy elves."

Aragorn was forced to restrain himself from reacting, and he did not know how Legolas managed to stay calm when the spittle landed near his feet. "Elves? What about elves?"

"Had a few of them here not long ago. They hid in a house, did some sort of ritual, and our children got sick. When we confronted them, they killed Gûrdramm, our blacksmith, and a few others. We have just finished burying the last of them."

Aragorn held back a grimace. He did not want to hear that, and he did not know how to react to it, either. He did not believe that some group of elves—not Mirkwood elves, that was certain—that had come to this village and poisoned its children. He did not know why any of the elves would, though he could easily see where this misunderstanding had turned into tragedy.

"Are the children still sick?"

"The first one's fever broke last night. It just took those creatures being driven from here for them to start their recovery."

Aragorn knew that was not the only reason for the children's illness starting to turn, though he doubted that he could change their opinion after what had happened during the confrontation. "Would you allow me to see them? I have some training in healing."

"That's what they claimed. Are you an elf, too?"

He reached up and pushed back his hood, and then he held back the part of his hair that had fallen over his ears. "I am not. I am a ranger, and I have learned much of healing in my life, but if you do not want my help, I will not force the issue."

"I know what you could do if you really wanted to help," an angry woman said, folding her arms over her chest. "Go hunt down those elves and make them pay for this."

"That is not necessary," another woman said, shaking her head. "If you would have listened to them, we could have avoided all of this. Maybe Gûrdramm would not be dead—"

"You can say that because it is not any of your children that suffered. Yours are fine, not a one of them got sick. You think you would say that those elves were not monsters if your son was lying there with a fever? No, you would not," the first woman told her, pushing the smaller one out of her way as she went back into her home. Aragorn looked at Legolas, meeting the elf's eyes under his hood. Legolas nodded.

"If you would let me see any of the children, I will do what I can to help," Aragorn said, knowing that Legolas would slip away to speak to the one woman who did not share her village's hatred of the elves. "It may be something that I know nothing about, that I cannot hope to fix. I do not know that I can do anything, but if I can, is it not better that I try?"

The first man who'd spoken stopped, hesitating. He looked toward the woman who defended the elves, and she nodded, but his look darkened before he turned back to Aragorn. "Fine, you can look, but do not think it will be easy. You will not be left unattended. I am going with you."

Aragorn had not expected it to be anything else, and he knew that by splitting up, he and Legolas would learn the truth of what happened here. He followed the man he assumed to be the mayor or chief—whatever he called himself—into the house behind him.

"Here, ranger," the mayor said, gesturing to the bed where a small child shuddered, still ravaged by fever. Aragorn knelt down beside the bed, looking at the girl with pity. "You see what those elves have done."

This was not an elven sickness—elves did not get sick—but Aragorn would not argue with the other man, not until he had done everything he could for the girl.

* * *

><p>"You seem prone to injury, <em>gildin."<em>

"Prone to trouble," Firyavaryar corrected, opening his eyes to look at the Istari. Now that he was awake, he could feel the bark digging into his back, though it was quickly overtaken by the pain in his side. "Or cursed by the Valar. I think that depends on the perspective and if one believes in them."

Mithrandir did an impression of an old man, leaning over him and holding onto his staff like he might fall without it. "You believe yourself cursed?"

"I did not die," Varyar reminded him. That would have been enough, but he could add many other reasons. The first and foremost of those, though, was half the reason he hurt now. "And I am still a walking plague. You expect me to consider myself blessed?"

"Perhaps not," the wizard agreed, sitting down next to him with an exaggerated groan. "Or perhaps there is a reason why you still carry that plague."

Varyar snorted. "What, to kill ignorant _edain?"_

"No," Mithrandir said, and Firyavaryar did not know how much of that incident the Istari was aware of, but he had to assume that Mithrandir knew more than what he had said, "but there may come a time when such a gift will be needed in battle."

"Do not call it a gift," Varyar told him, his voice cold. He would _never _consider what Draugminaion had done to him a _gift. _He killed everything he touched. He could not touch his family without gloves. This was torture, one without end. He could not even have the escape of death. And this was a _gift? _"I have already killed one Maia. I can make it two."

Mithrandir laughed. "Perhaps you could. That does not mean that you should."

Varyar grunted. This was not amusing. "Yes, you have some part yet to play in this Middle Earth. I know that is what you like to say, and I do not doubt that it is true for you. However, whatever that part is, it has nothing to do with me, so leave me in peace."

The Istari raised an eyebrow. "This is peace?"

"Very well. It is a most uncomfortable tree that does not care to have an Avari resting against it," Firyavaryar muttered, wanting to close his eyes again. He should have been asleep so that he could heal. "What do you want, Istari?"

"Why do you assume I want something?"

"I have never known a time when someone approached me that did not want something, not since the day I met Ogol disguised as a trader," Varyar said, and while he knew that he should make his siblings and Legolas exceptions to that statement, he could not. Their demands were not as painful as the others, but that did not mean that they asked nothing of him. Legolas wanted a friend and understanding. His family wanted so much more.

"And you assume me to be like that."

"You _are_ like that. You will send us all to our deaths someday." Firyavaryar was no longer a child desperate for help that the Istari had never given him, longing for comfort and was given some obscure and meaningless riddle instead. He had seen too much and suffered too long to trust anyone, and though he knew he could not blame Mithrandir for those things, he could not forget that he had asked for help and gotten nothing. He would have done anything for the wizard to undo what Ogol had done, but Mithrandir had not. He just said that Firyavaryar had a part to play in Middle Earth.

"Are you so certain of that?"

"I am." Varyar stiffened, staring at the Istari with sudden suspicion. "Where did you send Legolas?"

"I asked Aragorn to track a creature down for me."

"Aragorn?"

Mithrandir smiled. "Ah, yes. You would know him as Estel, though I believe your name for him is _echil."_

"And Legolas went with him."

The Istari nodded, giving Varyar a look like he might a favored pupil, but those days were well behind him. He was no longer seeking knowledge from wizards and trying to escape one that had marked him.

"They were both willing to undertake the task."

"You mean that he was willing to follow his _echil _as much as the _echil _was him. What have you sent them into?" Varyar demanded, pushing himself up from the tree. "I did not save that human and almost condemn my childhood friend for you to use them as pawns. What is this task? Tell me, _now."_

* * *

><p>"You said it would have been different if they had listened."<p>

The woman lifted her head, frowning as she looked at him. "We should not be talking. Condir would not like that."

Legolas nodded. He knew that no one in this village wanted to hear her opinion of what had happened, but he needed to know the truth, and her version of it would be the most honest. He thought she was unbiased, and she might be the only one who was. "Please. Tell me what happened."

She sighed. "I do not think that the elves had anything to do with the children falling ill. We did not even know that they were elves until Gûrdramm grabbed their leader. They had rented a home on the outskirts of the village—Barnost overcharged them for it, as it was in a poor state. They undertook repairing it themselves and never complained. That is what I mean—they did not come near us. They did not even speak to us. How could they have poisoned anyone?"

"You do not believe it to be some kind of evil magic?"

She snorted. "I may live in a remote village, and I may not have seen as much of the world as you have, ranger, but I am not a fool. I do not think all elves use magic or that they must be evil if they do. It is true none of our healers know what ails those children, but then we are not skilled healers. If we had only let that woman—elf—look at them, things might have been different. Instead, Gûrdramm confronted their leader and died."

Legolas hoped that Estel could help the children. He himself did not know enough about healing. He had never been interested in learning about it, though he should have been. Part of his trouble was knowing good healers, and with such experts around him, why did he need to learn? He was almost always the one injured—it was either him or Estel, or so the twins would claim.

He missed the twins. Perhaps if they had stayed, Legolas and Estel would not be trying to find some way of fixing their friendship.

"I hope my friend can help the children."

"As do I," she said, forcing a smile. "I do not know what brought you here, but I hope your coming is a sign of change—_positive _change—that means that our current darkness will not last."

"What happened to the elves?"

"I do believe they meant it when they said that they wanted to leave in peace. They—"

"Dartha!" A man grabbed her by the arm, dragging her away from Legolas. "You know better than to talk to strangers. Did you miss what happened the last time? People _died. _And those elves got away with killing them."

"We didn't have to fight them—"

Legolas could not hear the rest of their argument. Dartha was pulled into a home he assumed was her own just as an arm clamped down on his. "You. Ranger. You don't have permission to be out here on your own. Condir wants you in with your friend."

"I am not a healer," Legolas started to protest, but he stopped himself, not wanting to create more problems. If his hood was pushed back and he was discovered to be an elf, both he and Estel would be in trouble—and those children would continue on without treatment.

"That does not matter. We do not trust strangers around here."

No, and after what happened, he did not think they would for a very long time, but Legolas did not want to add to that. He thought he understood now, but he did not know how to help either side. He did believe that it was only a misunderstanding brought about by their understandable fear for their children's lives. They had assumed that the strange illness had to have come from the strangers, as might seem logical under the circumstances, and that had led to a confrontation that turned violent.

It was a stupid, terrible tragedy, and Legolas wished that it could have been prevented, but he did not know if there was any way that it could have been.

"I am taking you to Condir now. You should not have left him or your friend."

Legolas grimaced, but he forced himself not to fight as he was led toward the mayor's house.

"It worked," Condir said, shoving past them as he ran out the door, almost knocking Legolas' expert into the side of the building. "Quick, you! Find more of this weed. Now. Whatever that ranger did is working."

Legolas reached up to make sure his hood was in place, and then he ducked inside the house as the mayor continued giving orders. "Es—Strider?"

"In here," Estel called, and Legolas went around the corner to find his friend by the bed of a little girl. "He thinks I have worked a miracle, but I believe she was already on the mend long before I did anything—this is just the natural progression of the disease. I have only relieved a bit of her pain."

"Nevertheless, I believe that you have done a great thing for this village," Legolas told him. "I did get some of the story from Dartha before the man I assume was her husband ushered her away. It is basically what we heard before—the children became ill, the strangers were blamed, and when they confronted the leader of the elves, the blacksmith died. Dartha believes the elves only acted in defense and that their healer would have helped the children if they had let her. I do not know if we would have a chance to speak to her again."

"I think, after I have seen to the other children as I promised, that we should go. While this 'miracle' has pleased them, it will all end if they discover you are an elf, and I do not think we should be here for them to learn that."

"No, I agree," Legolas said. "You have allowed me to satisfy my curiosity and my fears about this incident. Let us not delay our true task any longer."

Estel looked at him. "I _allowed _you?"

"It _was _your idea to come investigate."

"I knew you needed answers."

"I did. Thank you, Estel. You are a true friend."


	6. Hope and Despair

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Six<br>Word Count:** 4,275**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I admit, when I looked at the map and tried to decide how best to handle the part of their journey to find Gollum, I almost panicked because there was a lot of ground for them to cover, and Rhovanion was a very loose description at best. So I know this is a small sampling of the trek that they would have had to make, but I figured if it was a choice between the monotony of travel and being accurate in covering the full scope of it, less was more, especially when the conversations were not helping to make traveling more pleasant.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope and Despair<strong>

"I suppose it is good that you had not handed the baby to him yet," Alassë said, leaning over the bed, her hand on her stomach as she examined her husband. "I know he has been so anxious about being a good father, but I did not think that he would faint again when the moment was upon him."

"We can allow him to blame that on whatever injuries he got when we left the village and our flight to get here to Greenwood," Sérëdhiel said, looking down at her brother and shaking her head. "Varyar will—would—be disappointed to have missed that."

"I can tell him," Nostalion said, keeping his voice low. She knew he would have used a different language, one not known to most of the people in the room, but that would cause as much trouble as the person they were trying not to talk about—or at least, not to have anyone _realize _they were talking about. Sérëdhiel had wanted her brother here for this moment, as Idhrenion did, and that was why she had accepted their time in the _edain _village, hoping that Alassë's child could be born when Varyar was there, but the baby had been stubborn.

"Not now."

Nostalion grunted, lifting Idhrenion up off the floor. Alassë decided to smile instead of the other things she could have done, trying to shift herself and the baby out of the way so that he could be put down beside her.

"Now is fine," Alassë said, her voice full of fatigue. "You are exhausted, Idhrenion is asleep, the baby and I will be soon, and people will expect him to be with you, resting, now that this is done."

"She is correct," Nostalion said, and Sérëdhiel smiled a little, knowing he did not like that admission. "Do you have a name for her yet?"

"No."

Sérëdhiel almost laughed. "We would just tell him it is a girl. He would be pleased that they cannot carry out Idhrenion's plan to name his son after him."

"She could still be named after him even if she is a girl," Alassë said, annoyed. "Though I do not know that _I_ want to name her after Firyavaryar."

"You can decide later," Sérëdhiel told her, reaching over to pull the sheets over the three of them. She tried not to yawn, but she could not stop herself. Elves did not need that much sleep, but she did not know when the last time she had slept was—she would blame Varyar's need to be alone that forced him to walk on their roof for part of that—and after a skirmish and flight and hours helping Alassë through labor, she was exhausted.

Nostalion caught her, lifting her up into his arms, and she thought about protesting but decided not to—she was weak to him, and she knew that, but he needed her, and she loved him. "Will you stay with me until I have fallen asleep?"

"Yes."

"And if he is sick or more injured than he told us, you will bring him here even if he tries to convince you not to?"

Nostalion frowned down at her. "I hate when you try and divide my loyalties like that."

She snorted. "I am the wife. I have your loyalty first, even if you owe my brother your life—and that is debatable because that story always changes in the telling of it, and I thought after the last argument you both agreed that you saved each other and therefore had to be indebted to each other and those debts canceled each other out."

"Only for the time in Draugminaion's lair. The balance has been upset several times since then, as you also know."

She did not want to think about that. She knew they told her and the others little of what passed between them when they were gone, when they went hunting or did other things that were unspoken, but she did not think she wanted to know how many times they had been hurt or come close to dying. She would never let either of them out of her sight again.

"Will you promise not to let him hurt himself?"

"Sérëdhiel—"

"I know you are leaving again," she told him, for she was not a fool. "I just want you both to come back alive, and I know what that is to ask, but please. Be careful."

Nostalion lowered his head to kiss the top of hers. _"__Áva sorya."_

* * *

><p>"I cannot tell what creature has been here," Aragorn grumbled, crushing the grass in his hand. He should be able to get more of a sign of what this was—he was a better tracker than this. Yet, even before they had diverted to the village to investigate the conflict between the men and the elves, he had been unable to find anything in surrounding area, at least nothing distinctive.<p>

"This is a difficult place to track anything," Legolas agreed. He stopped to draw in a breath, and Aragorn let go of the grass, frustrated. He was tired of tracking bare rock, and he did not know enough of what he sought in the first place. Perhaps they should have gone back to where Bilbo had met him and started from there.

"We need more."

Legolas nodded to the trees in front of them. Aragorn grimaced, not certain that twisted, half-dead thing could tell them about Gollum, but with his inability to get more than a few details from the ground, he was becoming frustrated and almost desperate.

"Why don't you ask the tree where Nostalion is?"

Legolas turned back to him with a frown. "You do not think so little of yourself, do you?"

"I have found no sign of Gollum."

"We do not know that we follow the path he took. Mithrandir gave you only a region, not a city or village or even a cave of origin. We cannot know if we pass close to where he did," Legolas insisted. He shook his head. "Even if you have been struggling, it would not be worth finding Nostalion. You told me that Nostalion's ability worked after he _met _the person he was tracking. He has not met Gollum. He would be as blind as we are."

Aragorn grimaced. That _was _true, but he was still frustrated by his lack of progress. He wanted to find Gollum quickly. If he had been holding the one ring, then they needed to act. The only way they could know was if they captured Gollum—though he supposed some answers might have come from Bilbo, who should still have the ring.

"What is that look?"

"I was wondering why Mithrandir did not ask Bilbo himself about the ring. I know we need to know what Gollum knows about it, too, but Bilbo _has _it now. Why not go to him directly?"

Leoglas frowned. He tilted his head to the side as he considered. "I would say, without any other evidence or reason, that perhaps it is because Mithrandir does not want to Bilbo or anyone close to him to suspect what he does of that ring. It would seem to almost everyone a most unlikely thing—that a hobbit, of all creatures, should have the ring of power, the one ring that Sauron wants more than anything—no, it must be that Mithrandir hopes that continued ignorance of the ring's importance and location will protect it until we are certain. After that, we will have to decide what is to be done to the ring. Plus—we must know if Gollum told anyone else about the ring and who now has it."

Aragorn nodded. He would have thought of those reasons if he had considered it for longer, but he appreciated Legolas' wisdom as well. "You are right. Still, I worry that we go in the wrong direction. Even if we find Gollum along this path, it may already be too late to stop what might be coming."

"Yes."

"Why are you _smiling?" _Aragorn demanded, knowing that none of what they had just discussed was promising, so why would Legolas be amused now? What was worth smiling about? "If you are somehow thinking that the impossible odds are enjoyable—"

"Hope."

"Me?"

Legolas laughed. "I am smiling because the trees have told me that a _gwinig _has been born."

Aragorn stopped, rubbing his forehead. "A baby? What baby? Another heir in my line or—"

"A baby elf, Estel."

"An elf? There have been no elves born in—what, centuries? Your people are fading, and I did not think that there were any that—"

"I am not certain, though I know we both knew of one—you may have thought it was a lie, but I believe that the baby might well be that of Idhrenion and Alassë. I believe enough time has passed for it to have come—and if it did, then it is a _she. _A baby girl," Legolas said, leaning against the pathetic tree, his smile wider than it was a moment before. "You see? There is still hope."

Aragorn laughed.

* * *

><p>"You did not have to come with me," Varyar said, aware of the discomfort of his companion. Behind him, Nostalion grunted. "You can grumble at me if you want, but you know that you did not have to come. You did not have to <em>let <em>me come. You could have stopped all of this if you wanted."

"I could?"

"Yes," Varyar told him, turning around to face him. "You know that I am no tracker. You know that I could not hope to find them even if the trees were willing to speak to me, and most of them are not. I do not have your ability—I do not want it—but without it I could not hope to find them. You did not have to come with me. You could have stopped all of this."

Nostalion nodded, conceding the point. "That is true, but you would have gone out without my aid, without the aid of the trees, without any sort of help from anyone. Alone and wounded, you would have gone forth without anything at all but your stubbornness and guilt."

"Would I, now?" Firyavaryar turned back to face the front, forcing himself to move forward, putting as much distance between himself and the assassin as he could. He would, perhaps, have tried to go on his own, though he was not and never had been the kind of tracker that Nostalion was. Even Legolas would be better at it than Varyar was. He lacked a connection to nature, and the trees did not like him around them, knowing the poison he carried within him.

"Yes, you would have," Nostalion said, matching his pace. "Sérëdhiel knew before I left that you would go, that I would. She knows you well."

"She always has," Varyar agreed. His sister understood him better than most, and he feared only Nostalion came close to her level. Legolas and Idhrenion _wanted _to know him, but both of them had their own blocks to prevent them from understanding.

"You know you are a fool," Nostalion told him. "You have done all you could to atone for that betrayal—you _died _for it. He forgave you. I do not see why you think you should still have to pay."

Firyavaryar almost smiled at that. He did not think that was true. "You do not? Tell me, Nostalion, do you feel that you can ever atone for the lives you took when you were in service to your family? How many times did you and Sérëdhiel argue over your worthiness? How long did you keep her at a distance because you would not accept her love, thinking yourself too far from the redemption it offered? If you could not accept her, how do you expect me to accept what Legolas said believing I was dying? There is a redemption in death that I did not gain—I am not dead."

Nostalion's jaw tightened. He did not like what Varyar had said, but he could not argue with it, either. "There is no redemption for elves like us."

"That is true, and we both accept it," Firyavaryar agreed. He let out a breath. "We have only debts and guilt, and we knew that back when Draugminaion had us. That is what has always bound us—our mutual debts. You do not have to follow me or lead me to Legolas, but you must know that I am not satisfied that I have paid back anything. Killing Ogol was no more than what I should have done when I was a child, and had I seen past his lies, past the pain and shame he brought me, I would have known myself capable of it, but I did not. More must be done. I must go."

"You will not go alone."

Varyar found himself smiling. He was pleased that his _gwador _had agreed to come with her, but he knew that he should not be. He should have found a way to turn Nostalion back, to send him to his sister. She needed him as well.

"The others will be safe in Greenwood."

"Are you certain of that?"

Nostalion nodded. "Though I did not stay long before I came to find you, I learned enough to know that your betrayal of Legolas is not known to all, and there are still those that welcome Sérëdhiel and the others in Greenwood. Ehtyarion assured me that they were not only welcome but also under his protection."

"Because he believes you his nephew?"

"If Sérëdhiel feels no compunction about abusing the lie, then I shall not, either." Nostalion drew up his hood. "I think I would like to have my own conversation with this wizard of yours, though."

"Rhovanion is a large place to search," Varyar agreed. "Were it not for your ability, we would know little of where to go, and I do not like that, either. I am not pleased with Mithrandir's manipulations, but I do not know that I—"

"They are following the river. We may find ourselves in places we do not wish to be. Lórien at best, but that is unlikely. If we were fortunate, I would say we would stray into Rohan."

"We are not fortunate."

"No. It will be Mordor."

Varyar shook his head. "Even my debt cannot take us that far south. You and I cannot go near Mordor. That shadow we still carry would overtake us both. If Legolas and his _echil_ go there, they will have no help from us."

* * *

><p>"I have been thinking about your hope."<p>

Legolas frowned, looking back at Estel, uncertain what he meant by that. He had been eased of several burdens when the trees carried to him the song, telling of the birth of a _gwinig. _He had not felt that sort of delight in centuries. Hope had seemed to darken as more of Greenwood succumbed to the shadow in the south, to Dol Guldur's evil, and though they fought against the darkness, sometimes it was easy to despair.

It was easy to want things like the return of old friends, to see them as beacons of hope instead of what that had become. Legolas could still count Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion as hope, though, and he would, for their survival was something good out of all that darkness.

"What about my hope?" Legolas asked, uncertain if he would like this. "Are you jealous because someone has taken your place and perhaps your name?"

Estel laughed. "No. I am not jealous."

"Oh? Then why do you announce your thoughts with such a weight upon them?" Legolas looked toward the river, watching the water as it flowed over the rocks. Sometimes such a sight was soothing, and he knew that Estel's suggestion of following it was perhaps better than most they had—Gollum was said to be a creature of the river, something not unlike a hobbit, and having left the safety of the cave where Bilbo had found him, he might want to be by the comfort a river would give him.

"I just had the thought that if all it took for you to have hope was the birth of a _gwinig, _that you could have seen to that yourself."

Legolas blinked. "Excuse me?"

Estel smiled, amused by his reaction. "Is it not obvious? If you wanted to see the coming of a _gwinig _as an omen of good things in the future, of hope, then you could have ensured that arrival happened far sooner than this one."

The elf regarded him with suspicion. "Are you suggesting that _I _should have a _gwinig? _Do you know so little of the world as to fail to understand where they come from? Is that possible?"

"I know very well where _gwinig _come from, elf," Estel muttered, almost annoyed. "I was speaking of you finding a bond of your own."

"You think it is that simple? That I could choose an _elleth _at random and create a child? You did not do that, did not seek out some maiden and have children to preserve your royal line, though you have been capable of it for many years. Do not say that I should have done so—my father is immortal, and there is little need to fear for the survival of his line—but you are mortal, and your line is in great danger."

"I did not say that you should chose one at random or out of obligation. I know how you dislike being linked to every elf-maiden you know, but having seen you with Sérëdhiel, I do not think it is completely impossible for you to have found someone to care for."

"Sérëdhiel is as my sister, and even were she not, I could not supplant Nostalion in her affection. Nor should you suggest that Alassë could have been an option—she was bound to Idhrenion and has borne his child. And if you are to speak of Eruaistaniel next, to suggest that _she_ could have been the one, that is even more cruel, as she has faded out of her grief and love for Firyavaryar."

Estel grimaced. "You are twisting what I meant in humor. It was not supposed to anger you. I only meant to tease."

"Humor? To tease?" Legolas shook his head. He would have thought Estel knew of better things to say when he wanted to tease, but perhaps Legolas himself was overreacting. This should have been more amusing, even for him, and he might have been more willing to see it that way if not for their frustrating search and the tension between them. "Oh, very well. I suppose I should confess that I have always thought that the beauty of Arwen unequaled in any elven realm—"

"Peace, Legolas," Estel said, holding up a hand. "You have succeeded in your revenge, and I bow to your victory. I made a mistake in my choice of humor. I am sorry."

"It is very easy to upset you with one mention of her," Legolas said, laughing. "I suppose, then, we are even once more."

Estel grimaced. "How long will you remember this poor choice in humor and use it against me?"

"I should tell it to the twins as that is what I do with all your foibles, but then I would have them teasing me about _elleths _as well, and I do not need that." Legolas let out a breath. "I would not tell them. I think it best that we forget it."

"I agree. Though—you must admit that you would have an adorable _gwinig. _I have seen the portrait of you as one, after all."

"Yes, well, the same cannot be said of you, now can it?" Legolas asked, laughing, and Estel shook his head. Now that was funny. "I cannot tell what would make Arwen consider giving up immortality for you, and I say that as a friend."

"A friend? To say _that _to me?"

"You were just telling me that I should have a _gwinig _of my own."

"True." The man laughed. "We are a sad pair, aren't we?"

Legolas glanced around them. "Indeed, I fear we are. Look at where we are and where we are likely to find ourselves. This journey may yet take us into Mordor."

Estel's hand went to his sword. "Perhaps that is why Mithrandir did not want me to go alone."

* * *

><p>"You have slowed your pace."<p>

"We are close."

"Close to Mordor or to them?" Varyar asked, kneeling down next to Nostalion against the rock. Cover had become sparse in this area, and they risked being seen if Legolas turned back with any sort of careful scrutiny. A few times already, he had thought they would be spotted, but either the man had distracted Legolas or he had abandoned his search, and they remained concealed. Varyar did not know if they were lucky or if the others knew that they were there, but so far no confrontation had occurred. They gave no indication that they were aware they were followed, so for now he would assume that the others were ignorant of that fact.

"Both."

Varyar grimaced. He had meant to argue with the Nostalion if the reason for their decreased pace was his injuries—wounds that did seem to be growing more painful as the journey continued, but they were only a minor added nuisance to his usual pain—but if they drew near Mordor, then perhaps there was more reason for the pain than he realized. If the shadow pressed further in against them, then he did not know what else was to be done. They would have to turn back.

"Do you think it can sense us?"

"The eye?"

Firyavaryar nodded. He had only heard tales of the thing, wild whispers that grew through the land, and he did not want to see it. They had already known enough darkness without confronting the dark lord himself. "I heard whispers that all evil was drawn to the south, to Mordor."

"Do not be a fool. You never went south, never even attempted to make that journey," Nostalion said, taking hold of his arm. He glanced at the hand, feeling as though bruised despite the fact that his friend's grip was not harsh. "Whatever flows through you, whatever Draugminaion's poison did, it never changed what was in the rest of you—the protector that sacrificed everything for his family, the loyal brother and father that raised them—and do not think I cannot know what has changed. Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion would not love you as they do if you were so greatly altered. They are your blood, but they are not fools. They know you."

"I do not know myself." Firyavaryar had lost something when he gave Legolas to Ogol, a piece of himself that could not be found again. He had feared that choice for many years, and he had made it, and in doing so, he had become something he had hoped never to be.

Nostalion shook his head. "You do. You hate what you know, but you still know it. You would not seek this atonement if you did not know you needed it. No one would bother without first knowing the need."

Varyar looked at him. "Since when did you become wise?"

The assassin laughed. "I am not wise. If I were wise, I would be back with my wife instead of here with you."

Varyar smiled. "Very true. Neither of us is wise. Still... Whether it is wise or not, if I show myself even the slightest drawn toward that place, toward that darkness, kill me before I succumb to it. Promise me that, Nostalion. Do not let me become that."

"Only if I have your oath that you will do the same."

"Agreed."

That oath was not difficult to give, and Firyavaryar did not hesitate to give it. He need only remove a glove and it would be done, even if in a fair fight he knew himself to be no match for the other elf's skills. He should not even need to ask—they had both made a similar promise when they escaped from Draugminaion.

Nostalion turned away, drawing in a breath. He let it out with a cough. "I do not like this place. We are too close to the dead marshes."

Varyar grimaced. "Can you sense them, too? The dead in the marshes?"

"It is difficult to tell what I am sensing."

"Perhaps you should remain here. I can go a bit further on my own."

Nostalion did not answer, not in words. He moved forward, and Varyar forced himself after him, unwilling to let any harm come to the tracker, either. Sérëdhiel would not forgive him, and he could not abandon another friend.

"There," Nostalion said, crouching behind a bush that was not anything in the way of cover. "They are in the marshes."

"Mithrandir may well have sent them to their deaths."

"That is why you came. To prevent that fate."

It was, though Varyar doubted that he would have much success in that. Was this the part he still had to play in Middle Earth? He did not think that was worth keeping him alive. He could do little from here. They would have to get closer. They would have to enter into the marshes.

Nostalion caught his arm, pulling him back. "I think they have found something."

"Or it has found them."


	7. Threats and Promises

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Seven<br>Word Count:** 3,290**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I was going to have the confrontation between Varyar and Gollum when they were back in Greenwood, but it fit well here, and I thought it best to leave it here. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you see it,) going for Gollum is only the beginning of the story, and there is quite a road ahead of Legolas and Aragorn as everyone knows.

Legolas does make a brief reference to what is detailed in _All Things Great and Small, _but it's a quick one and easy to miss.

* * *

><p><strong>Threats and Possibilities<strong>

"I know I told Mithrandir that I would try and remember that I know nothing of Gollum, but if I am with him much longer, I think I will kill him," Legolas said in a low whisper, glancing toward the prisoner he had just finished tying to the tree for a moment's peace. He could not believe how that one hissed and spit and acted as though he was evil for wanting some assurance that it would not try to kill them both in their sleep.

Estel nodded, his eyes studying the wretch as though he tried and failed to summon pity for it. "It is reasonable. He did try to kill you first."

That was an experience that neither of them would forget. Few things were able to sneak past an elf's senses, and too many had of late. He knew the cause of this one, though, and it was no twisted Maia. He had been overwhelmed by the dead marches, by what he saw and felt and senses around him. The land was corrupted, one of the most unholy and foul places that Legolas had ever visited in in all his life, and seeing it had made him sick in spirit as well as in body to a minor degree. He had felt something there that made him want to leave, and it had been that unsettling atmosphere, that overwhelming sense of wrongness that had kept him from noticing the creature that slunk up behind him.

Legolas rubbed at his neck. For such a small, twisted thing, Gollum was strong and vicious. The bruises on his neck did not seem to want to fade. "I think we should—"

"It burns us, burns," Gollum screeched, trying to pull himself free from the tree. "Get it off us. Get it off. It burns."

Estel shook his head. "You cannot be trusted. We have tried to be reasonable with you—we asked you to come with us calmly, to answer some of our questions, but you attacked us instead. You will be bound until we reach Mithrandir."

Legolas grimaced. That would be a long time to listen to the creature scream. They did not even know that the Istari would still be in his father's palace when they returned. Mithrandir wandered, and he could be anywhere now.

"Burns!"

"Perhaps we should gag it," Legolas said, touching his ear. "I do not know that we have another option. Neither of us will be able to stand the noise it is making, and we still have dangerous ground to cover between here and my father's land."

Estel nodded. "He does want to provoke us to violence, if not outright murder. Or perhaps that is only me."

"I do know that you are my most valiant protector," Legolas began, a slight smile crossing his face as he remembered a certain promise in a dark cave that made the man groan at his choice of words, "but it _was _me he attacked, as we just discussed, so it is not only you that is provoked."

Estel grimaced. "We did just discuss that. Why did I—"

"Fatigue. You have not taken much rest since we set out from my father's palace. I think you hoped to find Gollum quickly, and so you pushed us to as fast a speed as you knew we could both sustain as long as we did. Then we detoured to the village to investigate what the trees told me, and you did not want that to add much time to our journey, so you increased our pace."

"It is little wonder I found so little to track if I kept rushing us that way," the ranger grumbled, and Legolas would have laughed if their quarry had not started screaming about how his bonds burned him again. He sighed. He did not want to have to bind the creature, but it did seem as though every time they tried to let him have some leniency, he attacked them.

"I think it is best that you rest now, Estel. We have done as we were asked, and this journey is still a long one. We will need all our strength for our return. I will keep watch, and next time it will be your turn."

"Very well," Estel agreed. "First let me find something to gag it with."

* * *

><p>"They have the creature."<p>

"Yes, but I do not need your senses to know that it plans to harm them when it can," Firyavaryar said, watching over the camp that the man had made. He was not surprised to see that the ranger had succumbed to the fatigue at last—Varyar himself was struggling with the pace that the man had demanded for most of the journey. He was relieved to have a minor respite, though he felt a storm coming, and when it began, this would not be a respite at all.

"True. It would do anything to escape, I believe." Nostalion looked back at the camp. "We are too close again."

"I know. I wanted to confirm something I noticed earlier when that thing tried to escape."

"And have you confirmed it?"

Varyar gave his companion a sharp nod. He might not have the greatest vision of any elf there was, and he felt certain that Nostalion's was better even without his added ability, but even without that, he had been able to get a good enough look at what he wanted to see. "They recovered his knives."

"What are you talking—wait." Nostalion frowned. "You mean the prince's knives? You think those are the same ones he had before Ogol took him?"

"I _know _they are," Varyar corrected, getting a suspicious look from his _gwador. _"They were a special set that his father gave him. He offered me one like them once."

"The king wanted to give you weapons of that quality and ancestry once? And you refused them? What kind of an idiot are you?"

"My role in those events was exaggerated. Beridhren had already injured the orc that almost killed Legolas, and I did not do much to it. Thranduil was acting out of a misplaced sense of gratitude—he would have been devastated if he had lost his son so soon after losing his wife—and he did not like me much aside from that incident. He would have regretted giving me anything—and I would have lost them by now," Firyavaryar said, shaking his head. Everything he had when he was captured and taken to Draugminaion was gone. He had never recovered it. "Still, I know those knives. I knew Legolas would want them back."

"And he has them. Are you somehow disappointed?"

"No, I am not," Varyar said. He looked over at Nostalion. "I told you that Ogol claimed he had taken Draugminaion. That he bragged to Legolas about it and showed him as a part of his torture. I did bite Ogol. Either the poison is not in my saliva, or he had a cure for it."

"You think that if the wood elves recovered his weapons they might also have recovered the information on the cure."

"Yes."

"Then when we return to Greenwood, you want to look for it," Nostalion said, and Firyavaryar nodded again. That was what he planned on doing when they reached Thranduil's kingdom again. "We can. We will. However, I suggest we do that now rather than later."

Varyar frowned. "You are suggesting that we leave them?"

"We have gained your friend's attention more than once already. If he continues to notice our presence, either he or that ranger will track us. They are not complete fools. They will know we are nearby. Even with that thing with us, Legolas will be able to smell you."

"Excuse me?"

Nostalion grunted. "We have been trailing them for weeks now, and we have not had many opportunities for either of us to bathe, even when we were following the river."

Varyar grimaced. "The river was not a convenient place to stop—

"Convenient? There could have been no more convenient place." Nostalion shook his head. "Who would have believed that the great Varyar, protector of all, was afraid of a bit of water?"

"I am not afraid of water. I did not want to go in the river because I do not think that whatever it is in the fabric that holds back the poison would be able to keep doing so when it is wet. There is a good reason why I do not go swimming."

"Because you are afraid of water."

"I am not."

"You are."

* * *

><p>"We are too far in front of them."<p>

Nostalion grunted. "I do not think so. We should go and gather the others and be gone before they return."

Firyavaryar sighed. In part, he agreed with that. He would rather remove his sister and brother and the new baby from Greenwood before Legolas returned and tried to persuade them to stay. He should not—they were safer there, and it was good for them to be in a place that was safe. He should want them to be within the borders of Greenwood. That was better for them.

It was not for him, and he struggled with that. He would not be able to be close to his family, and that would hurt him, but he had always done what was best for them.

"You and the others are welcome there. You can stay."

Nostalion frowned. "You are not suggesting that you leave us, are you? I have no desire to remain in Greenwood, even if Sérëdhiel likes it there. I do not share your fond memories of the place, and I do not like being where my 'uncle' is."

"Perhaps Imladris is a better choice."

"You would not feel welcome there, either, and—"

"What was that?" Firyavaryar asked, turning around to try and determine the source of the cry. He thought they had gagged the creature Gollum, and he did not blame them for that as it screeched in the most infuriating of ways, but that did not mean that Gollum had not made that noise.

"Your friend is unconscious."

"And the man?"

"Further south. Uninjured. He must have been scouting or hunting while Legolas watched over the creature. I cannot be certain. That is not how my ability works." Nostalion looked at him. "No. Let them reclaim that thing on their own. The ranger can track. We have seen that. Let him do it. It is no concern of ours."

"It is a concern of mine," Firyavaryar told him, moving forward. "Besides, that thing is coming toward us. It is only practical to stop it here."

Nostalion grunted. He would have argued about it, but Varyar did not give him the opportunity. He could smell Gollum from here, and he had no intention of letting that thing escape, especially not if it had harmed Legolas.

He stepped out right in front of Gollum, causing it to run into his legs. It backed up with a screech, baring its teeth when it saw Nostalion had flanked it. Already trapped. This was almost too easy, Varyar thought, but then he expected no less of the former assassin.

He smiled. "And where do you think you are going, _ulunn?"_

The small being hissed at him, and Varyar dodged when it leapt for his throat as it had done Legolas when it was first captured. He let it fall and caught its arm with his boot, holding it down in place. "You would not want to do that. You touch me and die, wretch."

The creature spat at him. "Filthy elf."

"Yes," he said, leaning down to pick up some grass and hold it in front of the being's eyes. He pulled off a glove and let his skin graze the blades, aware that Gollum was staring at him as he did. The grass wilted, shriveling up in his hand, and he smiled. "That is what will happen to you if you try and escape again."

"You should just kill him."

Varyar nodded. "Perhaps, Nostalion, and I am inclined to do so since he did attack Legolas—twice now—but they have done all this and kept him alive, so as long as they want him alive, he stays that way. Unless he attacks the elf again. Do that, _ulunn, _and you will die."

"Nasty elves. We hates them."

"I am certain you do, and I am just as certain that we hate you," Varyar said, smiling as he turned to Nostalion. "I am tempted to let him run so that he knows that no matter where he goes, you can find him. That he will be hunted down and killed if he harms anyone in Greenwood."

"All of my training says not to bother. He should die."

"Yes, I think he should, but all I can hear in my head is that damned Istari's voice telling me that he has a part yet to play in Middle Earth. He lives. For now."

Nostalion grunted, and Firyavaryar did not want to argue with him again. He knew that they had done what had to be done—stopped the creature from escaping while the others slept, and he did not expect the assassin's opinion. Varyar himself thought there was something dangerous about this thing, this Gollum, but he did not know that they could kill him. Not yet.

"I think the one he hit is almost awake," Nostalion said, and Varyar nodded. Legolas was an elf, and it was likely he had only been stunned when Gollum managed his unexpected attack.

"Well, then, I suppose we should get this one back where it belongs," Varyar said, waiting for Nostalion to remove his dagger before he let Gollum up.

"Here. I think it planned on eating this."

Varyar took the dead rabbit from Nostalion, lifting it up with distaste. He did not know when it had a chance to kill the hare, but that would explain the escape. Hunger was a great motivation. The rabbit had not stood a chance. Gollum tried to jump for it, but then he recoiled as the poison spread through the carcass, speeding up its decomposition. "There you are, _ulunn. _A nice meal."

"Filthy elves. You ruins it. We hates you."

"Remember that could have been you," Varyar told him, dropping the hare. "And _will _be you if you harm Legolas again. Do we understand each other?"

Gollum hacked, coughing. "Understand, yes, we does, precious, understand. We hates the filthy elves. We obey the filthy elves."

"I still think we should have killed him," Nostalion muttered, and Firyavaryar nodded. If he was not trying to atone for past mistakes, he might well have let the assassin do it.

"There may still come a time when that is necessary. If it is, I think I will let you use your dagger. That would be far more merciful than what he would get from me."

"You will not be leaving Greenwood then."

"Not as long as that thing is there, no. I will see to it he dies if Legolas is harmed."

* * *

><p>"How is your head?"<p>

"Less wounded than my pride," Legolas admitted, and Aragorn managed a slight smile. The elf reached up to touch the mark with a grimace. "I told Gollum that we would eat as soon as you returned, and he seemed to agree. He asked for water, and I did not expect the attack. I should have."

"I am just glad he did not get far. I did not want to have to chase him." Aragorn shook his head. "I will be glad when this journey is over."

"We are close now. I can feel it, and I welcome being back in my home," Legolas said, drawing in a breath with a smile. "I know someone else will not welcome it."

Aragorn almost laughed. He did not think he would be able to forget the way that Gollum said "filthy elves." He did not know that Gollum understood that he was not an elf. He only spoke of how much he hated the elves. That would have worried Aragorn, making him think that he would not be able to protect Legolas from _another _attack, but so far, Gollum had made no attempt to touch him.

In fact, Aragorn thought Gollum was _afraid _of Legolas.

Aragorn was almost glad that he was. That had made the second part of their journey more pleasant than the first. They had far less trouble with him when Legolas was the one to move him or feed him. Controlling him was easier, and that had to be for the best. Perhaps Mithrandir had known that was going to happen when he asked Legolas to come with Aragorn.

Crafty wizard. Aragorn knew that he would never stop being surprised by the Istari.

"I admit, I was hoping that Mithrandir would meet us before we got to Mirkwood," Aragorn told him. He was tired and dirty and ready to be rid of their burden. Gollum would try even the calmest of elves' patience—he almost wanted to see what his _ada _would have done with the creature. That would have been interesting.

"As would I, but perhaps he is otherwise occupied."

"Legolas!"

The elf turned, grimacing when he saw the head of his personal guard standing there. "Ehtyarion. I am glad you are here. Though you did not need a full regiment for my sake. I know that I wandered off without you or your approval—without _Ada's _approval—but this is unnecessary."

"I was told to use caution when it came to that thing," Ehtyarion said, giving Gollum a look of distaste. "I do not see the danger in it, as it looks so wretched, but I was warned, and I would have been remiss to ignore that warning."

Mithrandir. It must have been.

Legolas sighed. "How did you even know where to meet us?"

"My nephew told me where you were."

"Nostalion is here?" Legolas asked, excitement in his voice. Aragorn wanted to groan. "How long has he been here?"

"That is debatable. He comes and goes with more stealth than any elf I have ever known," Ehtyarion answered. "He came, he left, he came back, and I believe he will leave again soon, taking them all with him."

"Them all?" Legolas turned back to Aragorn with a grin. "Estel, it is here! I mean, _she _is here. The baby the trees told me about, she is still here."

"You are acting like an elfling."

"I think it is understandable. It has been a long time since we have had a _gwinig _in this land, and her presence has been a delight to all of us," Ehtyarion said with an uncharacteristic smile. "Perhaps she should have been called Estel."

Aragorn frowned. "I think you are—"

"Insulting you? Perhaps he is. Perhaps he is saying Estel is a girl's name," Legolas teased, and Aragorn glared at him. The elf put a hand on his arm. "Peace, _mellon-n__í__n. _We are back in my home—we _are _home—and let us go and enjoy it. Ehtyarion will take Gollum, you and I can have a real rest and bathe—you stink, by the way—and go see a bit of hope. You and her—you should meet. We can all use more hope as these times grow darker."

"Yes," Aragorn agreed, thinking of the many tasks that might yet lie before them, especially if they were going to find the ring. They would have to find it and destroy it, and only the first part of that journey was over. A long road was still ahead of them.


	8. Congestion

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Eight<br>Word Count:** 4,021**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> Well, there is a problem with transition chapters... They are transitions, and I'm sure this is a bit of an awkward one to start filling in a bit of the gap between Gollum and the fellowship, and it is far too full of elf baby = adorable, but there are still plenty of subplots floating around, as well as a lot of characters, which is why I called this one congestion. I'd say the next one would be clarity, but that is too much to hope for.

* * *

><p><strong>Congestion<strong>

"Have you learned anything of use from him yet?"

"Patience, Estel," Mithrandir advised, and had Legolas been there, he would have smiled, but he would probably admit that he was no more appeased by the Istari's words than the man was. Aragorn wanted to know that they had not made that journey for no reason, that it was worth the screeches and bruises and cuts that Legolas had endured on their trek. "What there may be to know about Gollum is not easily known. It will take time and gentle persuasion."

"Gentle persuasion?" Aragorn demanded. He could not believe that. "That thing attacked Legolas more than once on our trip. He could have killed him, and you want to be _gentle _with him?"

The wizard nodded. "There are more things that can be learned with kindness than brute force."

Aragorn could agree with that to a point. He knew that many times torture ended in death, and even if it did not, it fostered hate and resentment. He also thought that treating Gollum as though he were some kind of guest went against everything he knew of the creature. Gollum hated elves—though he had developed some kind of fear of Legolas that kept him safe for part of the journey—and Aragorn thought it likely that Gollum would try to harm someone while he was here. It was not wise to treat him as anything less than a prisoner.

"I still think that we need to do something more than have a polite conversation with him. He did attack Legolas and—"

"He did? And he lives?"

Aragorn nodded, stiffening. "You asked us to bring him back alive, and we did. We were able to subdue him, and we are not killers. Not most of the time, at least. Why would you ask that?"

"Oh, no reason," the wizard said, and Aragorn frowned, wondering what was behind that statement. "Ah, wait, young one. I would have a word with you."

"Young one?"

Aragorn could tell that name did not please Nostalion any more than it would have Legolas. Mithrandir smiled as though he did not notice—to him even the oldest of elves were young—but none of them liked to hear it.

"Yes. Come. You are the one called Nostalion, are you not?"

"I am, but I have nothing to say to you, Istari."

"Nevertheless, I have a very great deal to ask you. I am intrigued by this ability that you have—"

"It is not for sale."

The wizard tried to make his expression appealing, adopting a fatherly air that Aragorn thought was a mistake, knowing what little he did of the elf's _ada. _"I am not interested in buying it. I wish to understand it and—"

"And use it." The elf's eyes darkened, and he shook his head. Aragorn figured if Mithrandir wasn't a wizard, he would have found himself at the end of the assassin's blade. "No. I have no interest in your politics, and I will not be a part of your manipulations. You may save them for the ranger and the prince. Even were my services for sale, there is no price that you could pay to have them."

"I am not trying to buy anything," Mithrandir began again. "Your hostility is unfounded."

"It is not." Nostalion glared at him. "Do not think I am so ignorant of your actions as you suppose. I know that Firyavaryar asked you for help against Ogol when he was a child, and you did nothing. You and Lord Elrond both. You will get the same from me—nothing."

"I did not know how to remove the marks as he asked," Mithrandir said, but Nostalion had not stayed to listen to him. Aragorn turned to the Istari, still frowning. He did not understand. That accusation could not be true.

"He is lying, isn't he? You and _Ada _did not refuse to help Firyavaryar, did you?"

Mithrandir drew in a breath. "It is not that I refused to help. At the time, it was beyond my means, and when I did know more, I could not help as he had fled Greenwood and Imladris by then. He had passed beyond our sight. That is part of why Nostalion's ability is of such interest. If he can, in fact, track any of Firyavaryar's family, that is more than we could do, and yet there is something of the nazgûl to it—his ability to hunt, to be drawn to what he seeks... It is of concern to all of us."

Aragorn nodded. He could see that, as he had his own reasons to be troubled by what Nostalion could do. "I understand that, but I do not think that Legolas will."

"We did not know that it was not necessary for things to pass this way. I still do not know who Ogol truly was. He could be one of many—it is difficult to know if he was one I should have known or one who showed himself only to the shadow."

"I thought that you read everything they took from Ogol's realm."

"That does not mean that he betrayed his identity in them. He was quite careful not to do so. It suggests to me that he had an identity to conceal, but I do not know. Firyavaryar was our only connection to him—and he may well have been our only hope of defeating him."

Aragorn grimaced. "I think it is best if Legolas does not learn of this. He will not forgive it."

"Legolas is preoccupied at the moment."

"That will not last. They will leave again."

* * *

><p>"Careful, Alassë. I think there is another who wants to steal your child," Sérëdhiel teased, and her sister grimaced. She did not try to take the baby from Legolas, but Sérëdhiel knew that she wanted to, same as she had with almost everyone who had come to visit them. Thenidriel fascinated and enchanted everyone who met her.<p>

"I will not steal her, though I suppose that would be a way of ensuring that you stay this time," Legolas teased, lifting the baby up and getting a giggle of delight from her. "She has Idhrenion's smile—which is your smile, Sérëdhiel. Varyar's smile."

"_Nana's _smile," she said, overwhelmed but the sudden sadness that brought her. She had not experienced such a sharp pain regarding her mother's loss in many years. "We all got that from her. She was so beautiful, Legolas. I wish you could have met her. She was... special."

"I know. She would have had to have been to be your mother," Legolas agreed, a smile on his face. "I am glad you came here to have her, Alassë. It is good to have a _gwinig _among us again, and good to have old friends as well."

"I am not certain I consider you a friend when you keep threatening to drop my daughter like that," Idhrenion muttered, reaching to try and take Thenidriel from the prince. Legolas laughed at his grumbling, refusing to hand the child over. His smile widened as he saw someone in the doorway.

"Estel! There you are. You slept late. Come and meet Thenidriel. Here is another elf-maiden to steal your heart."

Idhrenion frowned. "Another?"

Sérëdhiel shook her head. "It was not I, and do not dare spread that to Nostalion. Someone already upset him by suggesting that Legolas was in love with me once."

"If Nostalion could love you, I think anyone could, but none of us here are foolish enough to say that Legolas loved you in front of him," Alassë muttered. She caught her husband's glance and shook her head. "Do not be an idiot, Idhrenion. It was not me, either. I was not the slightest bit civil to the ranger during our entire travel together."

"I do not think it could have been me," Eruaistaniel whispered. "I was not even conscious."

Legolas smiled at all of them in turn. "No, it was none of you, though I am glad that you did recover after all, Eruaistaniel. I had been told that you were to fade and be buried with your ancestors."

She flushed, lowering her head. Sérëdhiel did not want him asking her about that—asking _any _of them about it. If it were true that she had survived because Varyar lived, then Legolas would soon know of that fact, and while Sérëdhiel did not like keeping it from him, she knew that her brother, at least, was not ready for it to be known. He still felt that he had to atone for giving Legolas to Ogol, and she knew her brother well enough to know that could take centuries.

"What is her name?" the ranger asked, coming over to look at Thenidriel.

"You do not know the name of the _elleth _you lost your heart to?" Sérëdhiel shook her head. "I fear that is a poor sign of your relationship."

The ranger grimaced. "I know the name of—I was talking about the child, and I do not need to have Legolas spreading his teasing to all of you."

The prince smiled. "Arwen."

"Lord Elrond's daughter?" Sérëdhiel looked at the ranger, almost thinking she pitied him. "You do reach for impossible things. I do not know that you can succeed in that, but it is interesting that you would try."

The ranger frowned. "What would you know of—I forgot. You knew all of them before."

"I did not know Arwen, only of her, but I still know you reach for the impossible in the Evenstar," Sérëdhiel told him. She folded her hands in her lap, wishing that Nostalion had not left to confer with Varyar. She thought they would be leaving soon, but she could not know for certain. It would be difficult, traveling with the _gwinig, _but she did not know that they could stay, either.

"I think we have embarrassed Estel enough for now," Legolas said, passing the baby to his friend. "Her name is Thenidriel."

"Beautiful name," the man said, smiling down at her. "It means loyal, doesn't it?"

"Yes, well, I wanted to name her after Firyavaryar, but Alassë did not want to, and in the end, we found something of a compromise, though he would still hate it."

The ranger nodded, and Sérëdhiel thought she saw a stiffness to him that accompanied the mention of her brother. She had not expected the man to forgive Varyar as Legolas had done, but now she knew that she should keep his survival a secret.

She did not know how to get them to leave so as to prevent that secret from being revealed. "How was your journey?"

"Long," Legolas said, sounding a lot like Varyar as he dismissed the entire leaned down over Thenidriel to put his finger in her hand. "Worth it to see this, though."

Sérëdhiel sighed. As adorable as that was, it could not last. "Legolas, you know that we cannot stay. Trouble follows us, and you have enough of it here already."

He frowned. "Do not say that. I do not want you to go, not now—not ever. You cannot travel with such a small child anyway. You must stay here until Thenidriel is much, much older. I am not the only one who would say that."

"Indeed. I think I should give an order to the guards not to let this one out of the borders," King Thranduil said, plucking the baby from the startled ranger.

"_Ada," _Legolas said, but he started laughing as his father played with Thenidriel in the same way that he had been a few moments before. Sérëdhiel would have joined the others in laughter if she did not think that Thranduil meant what he said. He would not want them to go, not when their presence made his son smile like that—and he was not the only one who was thoroughly charmed by the baby.

"Please. We cannot stay forever."

Thranduil did not look up from the baby. "Yes, you can."

She shook her head. "Would you say that if my brother were alive?"

"Yes," Legolas insisted, though the raised eyebrow his father gave him suggested otherwise.

"You know we cannot. And you know why," Sérëdhiel said, directing her words toward Legolas. He should know better. Even if he had forgiven Firyavaryar, not everyone else would. She was uncomfortable enough as it was. She did not like being here, knowing that if anyone had told the full story of what Varyar had done, they would be forced to leave. That was if they were not harmed because of it.

"You are welcome here as long as I am here," Legolas said. He gestured to his father. "As long as you have Thenidriel here, you will be welcome."

* * *

><p>"<em>Can you truly be a hundred years old?"<em>

_Varyar shuddered. As it was, he felt as small and helpless as a child, uncertain how he had stumbled across Ogol's path again. He heard the laughter of the orcs, and he tried not to think of how humiliated he was. The orcs had overwhelmed him, but it was Ogol that hurt him. It always was. That was his right, punishing his pet._

"Varyar."

Forcing his eyes open, uncertain why he seemed to sleep with them shut when he remembered Ogol in his dreams, Firyavaryar looked up at his _gwador. _"Is the palace that intolerable that you had to come find me?"

Nostalion grunted. "I considered trying to kill the wizard."

"Amusing idea. Impractical, but I think I would have enjoyed seeing you attempt it."

The assassin gave him a dark look. "If you still want to search for that cure, I think we should do it now."

The cure. Varyar looked down at his hands. He knew that he wanted that, probably more than he wanted anything, even redemption. He owed a debt to Legolas, but he could easily convince himself that he would be better at repaying that debt if he was not a walking plague. He could at least avoid what had happened in the village. He did not want to repeat that.

He did think he was willing to kill that Gollum, though.

"Varyar?"

Lifting his head, he faced his friend. "No. We should wait."

"Wait?"

He forced himself to nod. "They will be guarded for some time now that Gollum is here. They will be watching, worrying, and guarding. Were we to attempt to look at things that I assume they have locked away—and they would have locked it away—it could end in our capture. I do not want to risk you or the others in that way."

"So you will remained diseased rather than risk being caught? I should have sent Sérëdhiel to argue with you."

Firyavaryar was too tired to laugh. "You did not because you know that she would agree with me. It is inconvenient, but I have survived for over a century this way, and we do not know that Ogol had a cure at all."

Nostalion sat down beside him. "I do not think I have agreed with many of your decisions since you encountered your old friend. You are being... foolish and more stubborn than usual."

That time, Varyar did laugh. "I do not think I am more stubborn, though foolish I will agree to, since I know I am that and always have been, especially when it came to being here and being Legolas' friend. I knew that I would lead Ogol to him someday, knew I would betray him, and yet I did not leave. I let myself believe what he assured me—that we could fight and defeat anything together. There is something about Legolas that makes you believe that such a thing is possible—he would allow everyone to believe the best in themselves. It is a curious thing, a rare gift that I do not think anyone should have—it would lead them straight into disaster. Yet I fear he shares it with his _echil."_

"A quality that a king should have."

"He is not a king yet."

"He may yet have to be one. Should he not be worthy of that role?"

"Would you say that any of the _edain _was worthy of such honor?"

"No."

Varyar had not expected any other answer. He leaned back against the tree. "What if there is no cure? I tell myself that it will not matter if there is not—I have lived this way long enough to have accepted it. This is how I am now. This is _what _I am now. Draugminaion made me into a monster—finished Ogol's work, I suppose—and I will never be as I was."

"Do you fear to hope too much?"

"You and I have not had much hope in our lives. It does not seem to be something that we should dare reach for, as it is almost always disappointment. I do not want to think about the cure. It is best to assume there is not one."

"Now you are being a coward."

"Why am I still alive? It does not—if I was returned by the Valar, I should not have a plague, but I do not know how I could have survived that fall." Varyar rubbed his head. "I know we cannot remain here for much longer, and a part of me feels that I should get us to leave now, regardless of whether or not they have the cure. I do not know if that is cowardice or prudence."

"I think there is too much attention surrounding Thenidriel for us to leave quietly. We will either need confusion or chaos to slip away. As it is, her absence will draw everyone's attention to us, and they may be able to track her as they cannot your brother, sister, or you."

Varyar grimaced. "I should have ensured that my brother could never have children."

"You do not enjoy being a grandfather?"

"I can kill you, you know."

Nostalion smiled.

* * *

><p>"Gracious lady. How good it is to see you again."<p>

Sérëdhiel stopped in the middle of crossing the room, her lips thinning as she looked at the two new arrivals, and Legolas thought that she showed remarkable restraint in holding back the groan that she undoubtedly would have given if she were not a very polite _elleth. _"No."

Legolas laughed. The twins gave him a slight frown. Elladan stepped forward, looking grieved. "Are you truly so upset to see us?"

"Yes," she answered, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at both of them.

Legolas was not the only one who laughed then. He saw Thenidriel smiling—she must have her uncle's sense of humor, though it could have been Alassë's. He would rather believe it was a part of Varyar that lived on. He already knew he would enjoy this visit, as unexpected as it was.

"Why is have you come?"

"I see we are equally as welcome in your opinion," Elladan said wryly, shaking his head, though he smiled. He exchanged a look with Elrohir before turning to Estel. "The Dúnedain have been missing their leader."

"They have not," the ranger protested immediately. "Halbarad is more than capable of leading them in my absence."

"Admit it—you just wanted to see this," Legolas said, holding up Thenidriel. She was a source of fascination for all of them, and he would not have her now if his father had not been summoned away for the important tasks of being a king, ones he had almost made Legolas a part of until he begged to have a few more minutes with the _gwinig._ "Unfortunately, you will never get her. She is mine."

"No, she is _mine,"_ Alassë said, taking her daughter from Legolas' hold. "I think she has had enough company for one day—and even if she has not, I certainly have. Out. All of you."

"Not all of us," Idhrenion said, and she managed a slight smile as he came around to embrace both of them. Legolas smiled at the sight. They were a happy family, despite everything, and he would have a portrait made of this moment if he could. He wanted to remember those smiles and that love for the rest of his life, to use times like this to sustain him in the darkness.

"Very well, if we must go," Elrohir said. He turned to Sérëdhiel. "May we continue to keep you company, dearest lady?"

"I am going to find my husband," she said, slipping past them. Legolas laughed at their crestfallen expressions, knowing that all of this was for show. Estel shook his head at his brother's antics.

"You must have been far worse to her when she was in Imladris."

"Insufferable she called us, and Firyavaryar threatened to leave us somewhere no orc would dare tread if we did not stop annoying her," Elladan agreed with a smile. "I still do not understand why she does not see our charm."

"I do," Alassë muttered, shoving them toward the door with one hand. "Out. Go. Now."

"Your pardon, my lady. We would not want to disturb you or the little one."

She glared at them before she shut the door, locking them all out. Legolas smiled. He did like Alassë. She and Thenidriel were good additions to Varyar's family. He did not like Nostalion as much, but he was still glad they were here.

"Why did you come?" Estel asked. "Was it to see the baby? I swear, the sight of all these grown elves going baby crazy—"

"It may well be that it is because they are Avari that they are having children, but you know most elves have stopped," Elrohir said. "We are a fading race, and our time in Middle Earth is almost done. Even were it not, elves do not breed as often as other races do. I do not know of any family that had children without a gap of at least ten years between them, so if you think of that, _gwador, _then you understand that it has been some time since any of us has seen a _gwinig—_an elf _gwinig, _at least."

"There is one family that made that gap less," Legolas reminded him. "Varyar's parents had him and his siblings without a ten year gap between them. I believe only five years separate Sérëdhiel from Idhrenion, though many times you would not know it."

"Idhrenion was the protected youngest sibling," Elladan said. "He was allowed to be more of a child than Firyavaryar or Sérëdhiel. In some ways, when he moved into the role of 'father,' she became a sort of 'mother.'"

Legolas nodded. He saw Estel was uncomfortable with their topic again. He grimaced. "You do have a reason for being here besides the baby."

Elladan nodded. He looked to Estel. "We know you tracked and captured Gollum and that Mithrandir is interviewing him. That he believes he knows the location of the one ring."

"The Shire."

"Yes," Elrohir agreed. "The same Shire that you and the Dúnedain protect."

"The one that I am not there protecting now," Estel said, understanding his brothers' meaning with reluctance. "You have come to get me to return."

"If the ring _is _there, then we must find a way of protecting its bearer without attracting notice to it itself. Gollum may already have told others what he knows of its fate. You are a ranger, you know the risks of the ring, and you are the ideal choice to prevent its discovery while Mithrandir continues his investigation."

Legolas felt a weight settle into his chest. "I cannot go with you this time, Estel. _Ada _has given me the task of guarding Gollum—you know how he seems to fear me—and I must remain to see to that duty until Gollum is released."

Estel nodded. "I know. I would not ask you to come."

"You would not have to ask. I would gladly go with you, _mellon-nín, _if I only could."


	9. Distractions and Disappointments

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Nine<br>Word Count:** 3,452**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I had originally planned on ending this chapter with Gollum's escape so that I could move right into the events of the fellowship, but I don't know that I know how to do that just yet (I know Firyavaryar's side of things, but I am still trying to find ways to make the Aragorn and Legolas side of things not repeat Tolkien because I know I can't compete there.) So when the last bit came to me, I was rather glad.

* * *

><p><strong>Distractions and Disappointments<strong>

"_You are leaving."_

_Aragorn nodded. He did not like it—he had only just begun closing the rift between him and Legolas, but he knew that the ring of power had to be everyone's priority. They could not allow that ring to find its way back to Sauron, and while he did not know if the ring Bilbo had was that ring, he knew that he would not risk it. He needed to go to his rangers and organize them into a better protection for Bilbo and the Shire—and no one could know he was doing it or why. They could not allow Sauron's followers to learn of the ring's location._

"_I believe I must," Aragorn said, turning back to look at Mithrandir. "Do you have a reason that I should not? Have you learned anything from Gollum to make you doubt that Bilbo has the ring?"_

"_I do not know that Bilbo has the ring, but I do know that Gollum was tortured in Mordor. It is uncertain how much he has told them—"_

"_If he is alive, then he must have told them _everything," _Aragorn said, dismayed. They were not ready to defend the ring. They did not have any means of countering Sauron if he came after it._

"_We do not know that."_

"_He would not be free if he did not tell them what they wanted to know—he should be dead. He must have been let go for some kind of reason."_

"_That is possible. We cannot know what the enemy was thinking when he released Gollum, nor can we tell what his part in this may yet be, but we must prepare for what may come."_

"_I know. That is why I am headed north again."_

"_I will call upon you there when I have concluded my interviews with Gollum," Mithrandir said. "I believe we will have need of each other."_

_Aragorn nodded. He did not doubt that they would. If the ring of power was truly in the Shire, then it would take more than he and his rangers could do to protect that land when the nine started to ride. If Sauron turned against the hobbits, they would be slaughtered. They were simple folk, farmers mostly, and they could not hope to stand against the forces of Mordor._

"_We will all need each other."_

"_Are you wanting young Thranduilion to accompany you again?" Mithrandir asked, smiling, and Aragorn thought that everyone would start to speak of how inseparable they were, but this would be one of the times when their paths separated, and he did not know how long that would last._

"_Yes," Aragorn admitted. "I would rather have him with me, but he has responsibilities here, and I cannot take them away from him. This is his kingdom, his home, and he needs to be here to fight for it."_

"_If it is meant that you will face what comes together, then your paths will unite again," Mithrandir said, touching Aragorn's shoulder. "Now, though, I think you should make haste. You have a long journey before you."_

_Aragorn grimaced, looking at his belongings and shaking his head. He was not going to be ready to leave as soon as he'd hoped._

"Are you thinking of Mirkwood?" Cordof asked, drawing Aragorn out of his thoughts and back to the patrol. "Do you miss it?"

Aragorn forced a smile for the younger ranger. He had seen many places in Middle Earth over the years, and all of them had particular charms, reasons to go back or to avoid them forever, but he knew that it was not the place he missed as much as he missed the people. One elf, in particular. He felt as though he left just when they were getting their friendship back where it should be.

"I miss the company."

"We are not good enough company for you?"

"No," Aragorn said, shaking his head. "That is not what I meant. It is only that I have spent much of my time lately with Legolas, and I find I have been accustomed to his presence and his counsel, even when we disagree. There is a certain quality to even the silent moments that I now find myself missing."

"The silence? I think you may have spent too much time with the elves."

Aragorn laughed. He had been told that before, by others, though he thought it strange that a ranger would say that knowing his history. He had been raised among the elves for his own safety, and he owed much to what he had learned in his years in Imladris. He would always be grateful for the family he had.

"Was there something you needed?"

"No, not truly," Cordof said with a grimace. "I apologize for disturbing you."

"If my mind is wandering as much as it has been, then no apology is necessary. I cannot allow myself to be distracted now," Aragorn told him. He had not spoken to all of the rangers about Mithrandir's concerns, had not told them all the ring might be in the Shire, not wanting to risk rumors of it spreading too far, but he knew that he needed to be more vigilant than he had been since so few could know of the true danger and so few could fight against it.

He was not even certain that he could. The ring might tempt him—he might give into that temptation as Isildur had. He did not know that he could even trust himself.

* * *

><p>"Should I suggest that you have one of your own?"<p>

Legolas forced a smile, though he knew this conversation would return in a few centuries, if not earlier, since it was something all parents must ask their children. He would not deny that he found Thenidriel adorable—he did not know one elf in the kingdom that did not—but he was not interested in taking up Idhrenion's role. Even Idhrenion was not ready for it. "Maybe in a few centuries, _Ada._ At present, I find myself attached to no one—please do not suggest Eruaistaniel. She was rather horrified to find herself the latest interest of the twins."

Thranduil smiled. "I pity any _elleth_ who gains their attention, though I think your friend managed well with them, better than any I have seen when it comes to those sons of Elrond."

"Sérëdhiel is also _married."_

The king acknowledged that with a slight nod. Legolas did not know that his father would have approved of him being interested in Sérëdhiel even were she not married to Nostalion. Nor did he know how his father would have reacted to Alassë were she not Thenidriel's mother. Eruaistaniel, in all her discomfort, managed the kind of formal greeting that the court had not seen in centuries, and Legolas knew that in some way she might seem like the sort of _elleth _that belonged in a palace.

"She mentioned again that she wishes to leave."

Legolas stifled a grimace. He did not want any of them to leave, but he did not know that he could make them stay. "You have not rescinded your order about allowing the _gwinig_ past the borders."

"You wish me to?"

Frowning, Legolas stared at his father. "Are you suggesting that you have been keeping them here for my sake?"

"You _are_ happier with them here, especially as your other friend has departed. It is good to see you smile, and for that I would almost be willing to kidnap the child."

"That is not necessary," Legolas said, amused. He did not believe that his father would kidnap anyone, though he did have dungeons...

"However," his father said, pulling Legolas' thoughts out of the dungeon and back to where they stood. "I did not come to lecture you about _gwinig._ I would ask for your advice."

That was a thing almost unheard of, and Legolas did not know how to react. "My advice?"

Thranduil nodded, folding his arms behind his back. "I have been asked for some advice, and I find myself lacking the information I need to offer it."

"You were asked for advice?"

"I could have said for kingly wisdom," his father said with a slight grin, and Legolas almost laughed. He smiled. "These are all elves that you know more intimately than I do, so you would have the answer, and you may disagree with mine. Ehtyarion has found it difficult to connect with his nephew. He has been unable to speak to him for more than a few minutes. He would like to make some kind of gesture to bridge their gap. I suggested giving him the knives that I offered Firyavaryar."

Legolas blinked. He still doubted that his memory was accurate, that his father _had_ almost given the matched set to his knives to his friend, and he could not believe that the offer would be made to Nostalion. "The knives? Why?"

"I know that you claimed Varyar as _gwador," _his father reminded him, reaching over to touch Legolas' shoulder. "He is gone. Why should I not pass them them to his family?"

He had never spoken of it before, but he knew. In some sense, that should have made Firyavaryar as close as a son to Thranduil, Idhrenion the same, and Sérëdhiel like a daughter. They would all be family. Thranduil had not seen them that way, though, only Legolas did.

"I did not think that—"

"I also know that I owe your return to Nostalion. He was the one that found you."

Legolas nodded. "I know he was a part of Estel and the others finding me, but I did not think that you would give away heirlooms so easily."

"For the life of my son, no price is too high."

* * *

><p>"Ehtyarion. It is good to see you again, but if you were hoping to see Thenidriel, Alassë and Idhrenion have just taken her in to lie her down for a nap. She seems unwilling to sleep without both her parents there," Sérëdhiel told him, almost hoping that he would say that was the reason for his visit. She felt that Nostalion was of the same opinion, judging from the hand he put on her back.<p>

He frowned at the wrapped package in the older elf's hands. "What is this?"

"A gift," Ehtyarion answered, holding it out to Nostalion, who frowned and did not attempt to take it from his uncle. She stepped forward, taking the package from him and carrying it over to the table. She did not know that she understood why he was giving them a gift, not one this heavy, but if it was something that could draw Nostalion closer to his uncle or help him remember his mother, she would like for him to have it.

She unwrapped the top layer and gasped. "Ehtyarion, we cannot accept this."

"_You_ are not accepting anything."

She glared at Nostalion. "I am not a child for you to make decisions for me. I know the value of these blades, and we cannot take them."

"I know their value," he said, his voice quiet and troubled. Lifting his head, he turned back to Ehtyarion. "Why do you seek to give me those that were intended for her brother?"

"King Thranduil suggested they be with you. He did not say so, but I believe he held onto hope that Firyavaryar would not always refuse them. I know how he feels about protecting his son. Those that do so have his gratitude and his favor—and the best weapons that he can offer them."

She shook her head. She knew that her husband had been the one to lead them to Ogol's hideout, but that would not matter if Ehtyarion knew why Legolas was there, and it would be worse if the king learned of it. "No. That is all the more reason why we can't accept them. You would not offer if you—please excuse us, Ehtyarion. We must prepare to leave."

"Sérëdhiel—"

"Your brother is not ready to leave."

She frowned. She did not know why Varyar would not want to leave. He would not allow them to be put at risk. "He will be."

Nostalion shook his head, slipping into the dark tongue. "He feels the creature is a threat to the prince. He will not leave while that thing is here."

"We cannot stay," she answered back in the same tongue. "If they learn what he did—"

"I will talk to him."

"How can you speak that tongue without hurting your own head?" Ehtyarion demanded, touching his head and letting out a soft curse.

She no longer noticed it, and she was glad, since Nostalion and Varyar used it often, many times without being aware of it. They did not do it to harm anyone, and it was almost unbelievable how Eruaistaniel found it soothing. "We are Avari. It does not affect us in the same way. Varyar said it was a part of our lack of connection to nature that made it possible."

"Perhaps," Ehtyarion said, rubbing his forehead. He let out a breath. "If you do not want the knives, I suggest you take them back to the king yourself."

He turned, leaving the room, and Nostalion frowned after him. She touched his arm, and he dragged her close against him, holding onto her and saying nothing. She closed her eyes, taking in his warmth and his scent. She knew that he would leave soon, but as long as he was with her, she wanted to feel this. She needed comfort and security since their time of relative peace was at an end.

"Will you take them back to the king?"

"You know I cannot take them with us. They can remain here when we go."

"You are certain that Varyar will agree to leave? You said he would not, and I know how he must feel about defending Legolas—"

"Never at the cost of any of you," Nostalion reminded her, touching her cheek. She nodded. He kissed her forehead. "Get Eruaistaniel ready to leave and the others when they are awake. We will be leaving tonight."

* * *

><p>"I hate that he taught me how to do this," Firyavaryar muttered, shaking his head. He did not want to think about the way the cloth brushed against his skin, the way that voice sounded in his ear, or the heat of the breath as Ogol spoke. Varyar would forget all that, even if he found it helpful—even <em>necessary—<em>to use this method of stealth and protection. He pinched the herbs together and whispered the words that made it seem like an incantation, though he did not know that they had any more power than that they were spoken in the dark tongue.

"We are fortunate that the herbs were even there," Nostalion said, and Varyar nodded. He knew they were. They had not found much in what the wood elves had taken from Ogol.

"Nothing else was."

"Perhaps we were wrong about the location of the things they took from Ogol."

"You are being too kind. It is unlike you, _gwador,"_ Varyar told him as he stepped over the now unconscious guard and picked up the key ring, flipping through them for the one he needed—the one for the dungeon. "Finding the herbs means that we found where Ogol's things were kept. The cure was not there. Perhaps it does not exist. Perhaps I did not transfer it to him when I bit him. Perhaps it did exist, but he did not write it down. This is not the first time we have gained entry to that chamber, nor was it the first time that we read over those papers."

"That _you_ read over those papers."

_Nostalion cursed, letting the parchment fall back on the desk. "If this is what they took from Ogol's fortress, it is meaningless. Even though I speak the dark tongue—read it—that is indecipherable nonsense. Useless."_

_Frowning, Firyavaryar picked up the page and read it over, his stomach twisting. "This is not indecipherable. It is in dialect. I did not know that was a variant on the dark tongue, but it is familiar to me."_

"_You speak this?"_

_Varyar shuddered. "No. I do not speak it. However, I have seen it many times in my life."_

_Nostalion frowned, and Firyavaryar pushed up his sleeve, looking for the marks that Ogol had put into his skin, but he had not seen them since his fall. Perhaps they were gone with the being that made them, making him free with Ogol's death. "The markings—that is the same language?"_

"_Yes. This could be part of his spell book or his grocery list. I do not know what most of it means, but I have learned a few words having spent centuries with them upon me," Varyar said, pulling down his sleeve. "Set those pieces here. I will go through them, and you can have the others."_

"_I am not thinking that I would recognize the cure we seek even if I saw it."_

"_Perhaps neither of us would, but I think we would cause a lot of trouble if we took these, and I confess—even if the cure is within these pages, I do not want them with me." Varyar put the page down and tried to rid himself of a chill he should not feel._

Firyavaryar grimaced, putting the key in the lock. "True. I did the reading, but I did not find any cures. There were many notes, but he was careful not to leave much in the way of detail, as though he knew that those papers would fall into the hands of his enemies someday. I do not know if he had any gift at foresight—I have wondered since he did capture me when I was around a century old and I do not know how he managed to know where we were to ambush me, but he did. It could have been that. Could have been magic. Could have been that he was a Maia."

"You still do not know?"

"He lived a long time, but he did not seem to have elf ears."

Nostalion stopped them from entering the door. "You _saw _his face? Ogol's? So you know what he looked like when he was not pretending to be a wraith?"

"No."

"No?"

"My memory is not what it should be after centuries of torture," Varyar said, pushing the assassin's hand out of his way. "I know I goaded him into revealing it—I tried to, at least, but I do not know if I saw it or not. My dreams have not gotten to that point. I always wake before he is finished with the punishment he gave me for that conversation."

Nostalion grunted. "If you could remember his face, that would be useful."

"That is perhaps why I do not," Varyar grumbled, stepping into the cell. He grimaced as the stench hit his nose, almost overwhelming his elven senses. "I see his time here has not improved him any."

"Such a thing would be impossible."

"Filthy nasty elves! Filthy! We hates them. Hates them."

"Yes, I hate you as well, rotten little _ulunn, _but I thought perhaps you had forgotten my warning since you have been kept here. I heard you gave some of the elves trouble, and I do not like hearing that as I warned you specifically not to harm my friend." Firyavaryar stepped forward, letting his hood fall to his shoulders as he removed his gloves.

Gollum hacked as he backed against the wall. "No! No! We not forget. We remember. We obey."

"Liar."

Nostalion stepped on the tail of a rat that tried to scurry past him, and Firyavaryar smiled as he went back to the other elf's side, reaching down to touch the squirming rodent. "Remember—this will be you if you harm Legolas."

The rat squealed as it died, and Gollum covered his head with his hands, muttering to himself. Varyar shook his head in disgust.

"I think he understands."

Nostalion nodded, walking away. Firyavaryar stood and replaced his gloves, giving the wretch a final cruel smile. He lifted his hood before he turned to follow Nostalion out the door. It was time to gather up the others, time to leave. They had stayed too long already.

* * *

><p>Standing at the window, Mithrandir reached into his pocket and withdrew a scrap of parchment, unfolding it and frowning at the words upon it. He lifted his eyes to the distance and the coming storm.<p>

"I do hope someday you can forgive me, _gildin."_


	10. Mistakes and Conflicts

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Ten<br>Word Count:** 3,280**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I apologize for the delay in posting this. I had family I hadn't seen in years come to town at the beginning of the week, and I got extra hours at work at the end of it, and so I have had very little time to write, edit, or post all week. It took a lot longer to get this up than I would have liked.

Also I need to apologize because I didn't have anything to include from Aragorn this time. He will be back in the next chapter and the story will also move into the events of the fellowship.

* * *

><p><strong>Mistakes and Conflicts<strong>

"They are gone."

Legolas nodded numbly, for he was aware of what his captain had already told him. He had not wanted to believe it, but he could not mistake it, either. Everything that was theirs when they came to the palace was gone, and the gifts that they had been given had been piled neatly upon the table, left behind with a note in Sérëdhiel's handwriting that would say much what her brother's had centuries ago. He did not understand. They did not have to leave. He had told her that.

He did not know why they always left, but he knew next time he would do more to make them stay. The whole palace felt different without Thenidriel, like hope had left with her, and he did not want to believe they knew that would happen when they left.

"This is addressed to you," Ehtyarion said, and Legolas looked at him, feeling a surge of pity when he realized that Ehtyarion had no note of his own. His nephew had left without saying anything to him as well, and Legolas could not imagine that pain, not when Nostalion was all the other elf had left of family.

He opened up the paper, getting more of a message than he had expected.

_Legolas, _gwador,

_I hope someday you will understand why we had to leave again, though sometimes I doubt it when you are as optimistic as you are. You would believe that we could all find some sort of place where we can all coexist, and it is a beautiful dream that I think we would all want to share with you, but it is not the life we lead. _

_Whether you spoke for us or not, eventually what happened when you were taken captive by Ogol would be known to all, and not even Varyar's actions in the end could redeem him in most people's opinions. I know that he would not think himself redeemed, either._

_I could not allow us to trespass here any longer, could not allow the lie to continue. You know that keeping your silence would only end in greater anger and betrayal when the truth was known, and that knowledge pressed against us all, forcing us to go long before we would have liked to have stayed. Greenwood has always been a paradise for us, a sanctuary, but it cannot be that based on a lie._

_I know that you are not the only one hurt by our decision to go, but when your father sent Ehtyarion with those knives, we knew that we had stayed too long. Such a gift was always one that Varyar did not feel worthy of, and Nostalion cannot take them. Your father's gratitude is misplaced—Varyar did little to save your life that day we met, and Nostalion would not take something for a life he put in danger._

_Nor would he want to be reconciled to his uncle, I am afraid. He feels responsible for his mother's death—as his father lured her away from her home and used her to create his perfect assassin, a fact that broke her heart and led to her fading—I think. Even I do not know all the details there, as Nostalion confides in no one._

_I am sorry, but we are not comfortable taking advantage of your hospitality any longer. Please tell Ehtyarion that we are sorry as well._

_I hope someday we will meet again—I am certain that we will. _

_Until then, _gwador, _my love and that of Idhrenion and Alassë and even Thenidriel. See? She slobbered on this page just for you._

_Sérëdhiel_

Legolas folded up the paper, almost able to smile. She had done her best to take the sting out of her departure, though he still felt the pain. He looked to Ehtyarion, holding out the letter. "She does mention you in it. I do not know that—I think you might want to read it, to know that you were not—that it was not anything you did."

"Oh? Then why did they depart after I tried to give my nephew a gift?"

"A feeling that they were unworthy of it—and of a place in your family."

Ehtyarion frowned, taking the letter from Legolas and reading it over. He looked up, troubled. "What is she speaking of? What did my nephew do? What did Firyavaryar do?"

Legolas grimaced. He should have known Ehtyarion would notice those words, even if Sérëdhiel had not said anything directly.

* * *

><p>Firyavaryar felt something pulling at him, and he did not want to look to see what it was. The orcs must have been back, Ogol had decided it was their turn—or was it Draugminaion who had sent them this time? He could not remember. In the dark, all the pain blended together, and he did not know what was real and what had happened when. He could not tell. Nothing was right, but everything hurt. That much he did know.<p>

He shoved it back, and someone yelled.

"Varyar! Careful!"

He forced his eyes open, frowning over at the orc. No one would forgive him for thinking that was an orc, not with the way he saw them all fussing over it and smiling and making fools of themselves. He narrowed his eyes at the baby, and for some reason he could not understand, Thenidriel laughed.

Alassë held her daughter against her chest. "You could have hurt her."

"I know that," he said coldly, shaking his head. "I thought that thing was too small to walk or even crawl yet, but every time I look down it is on me."

"She rolls," Sérëdhiel said, shaking her head and passing Alassë the blanket that Thenidriel was supposed to be swaddled in. "It happens."

"It shouldn't," he said, rising. "I could kill that thing any time it passes near me—"

"Stop calling my daughter a 'thing,'" Idhrenion said, his voice dark. "I do not care if you raised me. You do not call my daughter a thing."

"Keep your _daughter _away from me, then," Firyavaryar spat. He glared at the child, hating that insipid smile. He did not know why that creature seemed to want him, but he did not want her near him. They had all been amused at first that she liked her namesake uncle so much, but he had not been, and he did not know why they had insisted on giving her to him to hold, but now it was worse. "I could kill her without even realizing she's there, Idhrenion. Is that what you want? You know better than to leave a _gwinig _unattended. You want to lecture me on what I call her because you are her _ada? _Act like a damned father, then."

"Varyar!" Sérëdhiel cried, taking hold of his arm and dragging him away from the others. "What are you doing? This is not like you, and do not say it is Thenidriel. It is difficult to travel with her, yes, and she has changed our lives in many ways, but that does not merit this anger—and you would never have said such things to Idhrenion before, not knowing how he worries about his role as Thenidriel's father."

"There is no cure," Nostalion said, causing his wife to jerk even though most of the time she knew when he was there. "We did not find it before we left."

"No cure?" She whispered, and Varyar found himself glaring at Nostalion this time. He had not spoke to anyone in his family about the cure that Legolas thought Ogol had, and he did not think that Nostalion would have been foolish enough to do so, but then it was Sérëdhiel that he had told. He was weaker to her than he should be.

"Not that we could find."

"And it very well probably never existed in the first place," Firyavaryar said, shaking his head. "It does not matter. What I said was true—they need to watch that child better."

"It is not only that," Sérëdhiel said. "You are sleeping with your eyes closed again. Are the dreams back? The ones of Ogol? Is that why you shoved Thenidriel away back there?"

Sometimes he hated how well Sérëdhiel knew him. Sometimes he thought he hated her. He turned and walked away. He knew that Nostalion would find him even if he did not follow now, but he needed to be away from the others until he was calm again.

* * *

><p>"You let him walk away?"<p>

Sérëdhiel sighed. "Sometimes one can only battle so much at a time, little brother. We need to let Varyar have time. He will return. He always does."

"He almost died," Idhrenion reminded her, and she winced, but she could not convince herself it was right for her or anyone else to follow Varyar now. Nostalion would find him when they needed him if he had not returned on his own by then.

"We cannot travel like this with Thenidriel. We must find some place to make shelter—a place to stay," Eruaistaniel said, her eyes on her hands. "If we were not camped so closely together, she could not roll on him and upset him."

Alassë glared at her. "It is not Thenidriel's fault. She is only a baby."

Eruaistaniel lowered her head, unable to look at her cousin. Sérëdhiel gave Alassë a dark look. They needed to encourage Eruaistaniel when her spirit returned to her, not crush it further. Varyar could do so much for that, but he thought his presence upset her, so he stayed away from her.

"We do need to have you settled," Nostalion said, and everyone looked toward him. When Varyar was absent, he was their leader, though he left it to Sérëdhiel to do most of the talking. "Given the child's age, an elven realm would be preferable."

"It would not matter what age Thenidriel is," Alassë said. "An elven realm would _always _be preferable. None of us much care for living near _edain, _though some of us have more reason to dislike it, and we all know how badly that went the last time we tried it. We cannot do that again."

"I did not say we would. None of us did."

"You do not have to," Idhrenion said, shaking his head. "We all know Firyavaryar. We know he will not agree to go to into any elven realm. He cannot go to Greenwood because he betrayed Legolas. He cannot go to Imladris because he betrayed Legolas. He cannot go to Lórien because of that _elleth _that Ogol killed."

"Varyar would tell you that it is not necessary for him to be with you."

"Not necessarily?" Idhrenion demanded. "Varyar is our brother. He is more than our brother. We need him with us."

"Yet all he wants is for us to be safe. He would not have to come with us into the realm if he did not want to join us," Sérëdhiel said, and her younger brother frowned. "He is the one that is unwelcome—he is also believed to be dead."

"No. It was difficult enough when he was with us in Greenwood and yet would not come to us at the palace. He cannot stay somewhere other than where we are. We are a family. We are supposed to be together."

"We are not elflings anymore," she reminded him. "We do not need to be with Varyar constantly. Let him go back to Greenwood and continue his penance if that is his wish."

"Yes, let him," Alassë said, looking down at Thenidriel. "I cannot believe you are so determined to stay with him—you were just as angry with him as I was a moment ago."

Idhrenion sighed. "He is my brother, and I cannot forget that even if I do get angry with him. I love him, and I do not want to raise our child without him because—he is not like that, not most of the time. Something is wrong. Sérëdhiel knows. There _is_ something."

She nodded. "Yes, there is. I do not think that we should discuss that, though. It is not—"

"Tell me why I should forgive him," Alassë said. "Tell me why we _always _forgive him. He is not that wonderful—no one would call him that, but you always forgive him. He could have killed our baby, and yet he is forgiven."

Sérëdhiel knew that Varyar would not want her to say this, but she must try to repair this rift. "There is still no cure for the poison within him."

"There never was one."

"No," Nostalion said, "but something happened to make him believe that Ogol had one. Ogol claimed to have Draugminaion, and he did not die instantly after Varyar bit him. Legolas believed there was a cure, and I think Firyavaryar allowed himself to believe it as well."

Eruaistaniel put a hand to her mouth. Alassë winced. Idhrenion cursed. "Now he has even less reason to want to live, and he already does not want to. What are we to do?"

Sérëdhiel sighed. "I think he must do what he can to atone for his betrayal. That is all I know of."

"I would say that you could tell him that—no, you cannot. He would not see it as a reason for hope, only for more pain," Eruaistaniel said, rising and leaving the camp.

Sérëdhiel turned to Nostalion, touching his arm. "Take care of Varyar for us, and we will see you when you come to Imladris."

"You are not—"

"I will lead them to Imladris. I can, and I will. Thenidriel will be welcome and safe there while we look for a more permanent place and Varyar does what he must. I do not want to be separated from either of you, but we are all strong enough to survive this."

Nostalion nodded. He kissed her, and she told herself that they would not be separated for long, even if she knew that was a lie.

* * *

><p>"Filthy elves. We hates elves."<p>

Legolas grunted, as tired of that refrain as all the elves that guarded Gollum were. These patrols were becoming the worst part of any of their lives, but at least they no longer had the pure monotony of watching him in his cell. Whatever he had told Mithrandir must have been important for the Istari to rush off the way he had, but that still left Gollum in their care, a fact that none of them liked.

"I do not think it is wise to take this thing out of the dungeons."

Legolas nodded. "Your concerns have been noted, Ehtyarion, but we cannot keep him locked in a dungeon forever. Though he has become quite twisted, he has not committed any offense against us."

"No offense?" Ehtyarion demanded. "How can you say that? We know that you were attacked by that thing more than once when you brought it to our land. How can you claim that he did not commit an offense against us? He did. It was against _you."_

Legolas sighed. He thought that he knew the true cause of the captain's upset—the abrupt departure of his nephew and the others in the night, followed by Legolas' thoughtless decision to let him read Sérëdhiel's letter. "I know it was, but not every offense against me needs to be punished so severely."

"Because you will forgive everyone who betrays you?"

"Firyavaryar did not want to betray me, and he _did _kill Ogol. He _died. _Why does this have to be so hard for everyone else to accept?" Legolas asked, though he did not know that it was Varyar who upset Ehtyarion as much as it was his nephew. He had wanted to reconcile with Nostalion, but he had not known of the younger elf's part in Legolas' betrayal, only in his rescue, and he did not like knowing what he did of his sister's child.

"You are being a fool."

"Being angry with Nostalion or with me will not bring your sister back. You know her fate was an unhappy one, but I do not think her son's was any better. I think in his way, he has spared you of knowing how it was for her, and he did not do what he did to disappoint you or hurt you. He may have been willing to exploit your concerns as an uncle for a while, but not for his own sake—for Thenidriel's. We were all fools for that _gwinig."_

"And now that _gwinig _is out there, somewhere, far from the protection of the elves and at risk."

"Ehtyarion, you cannot protect everyone."

"Indeed. I cannot even protect the prince I am sworn _to _protect."

"That is not your fault but mine," Legolas told him, for he often went out without his personal guards. He preferred to see to his own safety rather than relying on them, and he found their presence stifling at times. When he got in trouble, it was not their fault for failing to protect him. It was his for going alone.

"I do not think that—"

"Orcs!" One of the other guards called, and Legolas whirled, taking out his bow. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and lined it up even as he searched for the attack. Things had been so quiet since before they captured Gollum that he feared they were all unprepared for what was upon them.

Around him, Legolas could hear arrows slicing through the air, the cries of orcs as they rushed into the elves. He tried to focus on the ones that he himself was fighting, not pausing long between each arrow he let fly, but as he readied his third, something hit him in the back, and he heard the familiar snarl of Gollum as the creature hissed at him.

"Filthy elves. Filthy."

Legolas turned, trying to get at the creature on his back. He couldn't reach it, but when he did, he would probably kill it. Gollum cried out, screeching in his ear, and Legolas looked back at Ehtyarion with relief as the creature fell off of him.

The captain nodded, but before they could come close to celebrating, he was attacked by four elves. Legolas grabbed his knives, going for the orc nearest to him, meeting blade with blade. He heard Ehtyarion grunt, and he grew angry to see blood on the captain's leg, weakening him for the others that had attacked him. The orcs were more vicious than he remembered, and Legolas had to wonder if they were somehow here for Gollum or if that thing was just taking advantage of the situation, but why? Why would the orcs help him when they had supposedly tortured him?

Something bit his leg, and Legolas swiped at it with his knife, but Gollum dodged the blade, going for his back again, and before Legolas could reach it, the wretch's hands closed around his throat. He twisted his knife up toward the creature's arm, drawing blood but not dissuading it from its grip.

"Filthy elf. We kills you."

"Get away from Legolas," Ehtyarion said, finishing off the orc that forced him to the ground. He shoved it off with a groan, trying to rise despite the wound in his leg.

"Legolas," Gollum whispered, eyes widening. He let go with a hiss, running away from them. Legolas sat up, drawing in a breath with a frown. He rubbed a hand over his arm, uncertain why the creature had fled. He did not think that Gollum would have feared Ehtyarion. Why would he run?


	11. Things in Motion

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Eleven<br>Word Count:** 3,891**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I am really thinking I should have gone with one-shots. I had all these great moments to do in the fashion of say _Lion King 1 1/2_ (that was my nephew's favorite movie when he was younger) where they were there all along but the audience didn't know that. The trouble is that they were great moments, not necessarily a cohesive plot, and trying to make them one is a headache and a half. Plus I throw in not wanting to repeat what Tolkien/the movies did better than I could, the fact that I loaned my copy of the fellowship to my nephew and can only rely on my memory and the movies (so this is more movie than book because I remember them and have access to them,) and I have a huge mess on my hands, not helped in the least by Varyar's alter ego wanting _his_ story told and taking up what he can of my limited free time.

Ahem. The point is, maybe this should have been a series of small fics rather than one large one, even if they do all sort of go together and it is the whole tale of how Varyar got from his "death" to a real redemption while Legolas and Aragorn went on the quest for the ring.

* * *

><p><strong>Things in Motion<strong>

"It is cowardly of me not to want to tell anyone of this."

"A coward? You?"

Legolas almost smiled, but he could not take comfort in Ehtyarion's words. He felt unequal to the task that he knew was before him. He had dealt with his father's disappointment before, but this was not about their minor disagreements. This was the loss of a ring-bearer, a captive under Legolas' watch, and he did not know how to tell his father or anyone else, and he knew that he would have to tell more than just his father about this failure. He did not want to tell Mithrandir or Lord Elrond—Lady Galadriel—anyone who might know of Gollum's importance and also of the ring.

Another elf would have run rather than admit to any of this. Legolas was tempted. He had been hiding in the healing ward, watching over Ehtyarion's progress, even though the captain had suffered a minor wound.

Others had not been so fortunate. Others would not come back. Others were dead because Legolas had been distracted. He had failed. His task had been simple, but he had not managed to do it. "He was supposed to be afraid of me. This should not have happened."

"You know that it was not your fault that Gollum escaped," Ehtyarion said. He shook his head. "I have been trying to convince myself that it was not mine. You know he _was _afraid of you—I think he forgot in that moment when he was about to make his escape, but he remembered—and he ran rather than fight. That means he was still afraid of you, but he took his opportunity anyway."

Legolas grimaced. He sat down next to his captain and shook his head. "I do not understand. Gollum's actions make little sense. Why should he develop that fear of me? Why did he not kill me when he attacked me on our way back? If not then, why now? He has acted so strangely that I do not know what to think of it. I cannot see what I did that changed anything in how he behaved toward me."

"You do not know that it had anything to do with you."

Legolas grunted. "Why would Gollum suddenly develop a fear of me and not Estel, then?"

"Elves are more intimidating than men."

That made Legolas laugh even though he knew that he should not. "All elven pride aside, why would I be the one that he focused on like that? Why should it matter if I lived or died? I am only one elf, and he hates us all—he told us that many times."

"Yet he did little to attack the elves in our party besides you—he left us for the orcs. You were the only one he went for, and that was likely because you were the one holding his leash." Ehtyarion touched a hand to his leg. "I would rather be out there looking for him."

"I would, too, but I am not to leave the palace until I tell _Ada _what happened." Legolas shook his head. "He already knows. Everyone does. All the patrols are watching for him, almost every elf in the kingdom is hunting that thing, including the best trackers we have."

"Not all of them."

Legolas forced a smile. "You flatter me, but I am not that good. I let Estel do the tracking when we hunt together—I let Elladan and Elrohir do it as well. Unless you meant Estel by that?"

Ehtyarion grimaced. He still was not fond of the ranger despite Legolas' many years of friendship with him, probably because Legolas was always leaving his guards behind when he ran off to get into trouble _with _Estel. "No. I was actually speaking of my nephew."

"I thought you were angry with him."

"I _am _angry with him for leaving, for his part in what Ogol did to you, and for things I know I should not blame him for—and for him knowing that I would have that weakness," Ehtyarion said. He lowered his head, letting out a breath, and then he looked up, determination returning to his features. "Regardless of how I feel about him, we know he could track that thing anywhere. That is what he did to save you, and he could do it again."

"There _was _a rumor that Nostalion and the others went to Imladris. We could offer to go find him. I think I am the only one who might convince him to help us—well, I say that, but it would be Sérëdhiel that did. She could persuade him."

"Yes."

"It is something to offer my father to temper his rage," Legolas said, feeling a bit of confidence returning to him. "I will tell _Ada _what happened—with all emphasis on your valor—"

"Legolas—"

"And you should be ready to leave when I get back because you are coming with me to Imladris."

* * *

><p>"Should have killed him."<p>

Varyar nodded. He could not disagree with Nostalion's opinion, and the more he thought about it as they trudged along through the mud, cursing their lack of mud and his own stupidity. If he did not have some stupid idea of redemption, he would not have bothered to go after the creature Gollum at all, and they would not be here, wherever here was, because he was not certain he knew any of this land, though he should by now.

"I do not know why I did not," Varyar admitted. "I thought I had stopped trusting Mithrandir back when I was still a child. I cannot see why I would believe anything he said—how could I maintain any of that sort of naivete? I have been hurt too many times to trust anyone. Or anything."

Nostalion grunted. "You would trust and follow Legolas to your death."

"Are you jealous?"

"I think you are a fool. That is different."

Varyar laughed. "I believe you _are _jealous. Do you not realize how many times I have followed you? I do so without asking questions, trusting in your ability when I might have no reason to do so. That trust I have always given you, will always give you, and it is your to abuse should you see fit."

"I have no interest in abusing your trust. I do not enjoy mocking my ability. I would rather be without it, much as you would rather not be a walking plague."

Firyavaryar tried not to react to the reminder of what he was. He did not need to think about his foolishness—believing that Ogol had a cure that he could use—he should have known that was a lie. Maybe the only reason he had been able to kill Ogol was that the poison was working on him. Maybe he had not bit down as far as he thought. Maybe the poison did not affect Maia. Maybe it did not pass through his saliva. He still did not understand all of what made it work.

"We could see if there are any remains of Draugminaion to see if—"

"If what? We do not have his knowledge of science and magic to turn us back to what we were. We do not have the army of orcs it took to subdue us, either."

"It would be different if we were doing it with our consent—and not after we were tortured for so long that I cannot remember why he bothered with the torture first. Did he ask us questions or was it just as some kind of... softening for what he intended to do later?"

Nostalion frowned. "How many gaps are there in your memory?"

"Several." Varyar looked at him. "That worries you?"

"It has never troubled us before, but I suppose it has never mattered as much as it does now."

"Because of Ogol?"

"You are dreaming during the day time. If your mind is allowed a moment, you will return to some part of your memory that torments you. Sérëdhiel called them your waking dreams. She fears them."

"Sérëdhiel fears nothing."

"You are wrong about that."

Varyar shook his head. "If you would like to end this hunt, say so and be done with it. I am not in the mood to argue with you. For such a wretched thing, Gollum moves fast. We should keep moving, if we are going to—and you do not have to come with me."

"You could not follow him without me," Nostalion said, annoyed. "You struggle to keep pace with him now. You cannot continue like this—either the dreams have to stop or you do."

"Then I suppose I will—it took years, maybe even a century before the waking dreams ended the last time I suffered from them, and I do not know that I have the strength now to keep going, but I should rather try that than settle in to die."

"Is that what you believe staying in Greenwood was? What journeying to Imladris would have been?"

"In a sense, I suppose." Varyar let out a breath. "I do not think that I would be welcome despite what Legolas and a few others think, and I would not want to risk my actions affecting the others. I do not know how far they would take punishing me for betraying Legolas, but there would be some who would want me dead for that. Staying in those lands is almost like asking for death."

Nostalion nodded. "Yet that seems to be what you want."

"I think it would be the only peace I would ever know," Varyar admitted, looking over at his _gwador. _"I do not know that I can hope for anything else."

* * *

><p>"I will need you in Bree."<p>

Aragorn lifted his head, frowning. He did not know when Mithrandir had gotten there—or when he had fallen asleep, but somewhere in there he had dozed off, and now he could not say how much time had passed between now and then. He did not know that he could tell more than what was right in front of him, and he had not expected it to be a wizard.

"Mithrandir?"

"Yes, Aragorn, and we have not much time," the Istari said, kneeling down next to him. "Things are advancing quickly."

Aragorn forced himself not to say anything about the months he had been out here on a rather futile patrol of the northern border. His annoyance was in part because of his unwanted departure from Mirkwood and in part because he had thought his brothers intended to stay with him and did not. They had returned to Imladris due to increased orc activity there, promising to return if they could.

They had not.

"You have been to the Shire," Aragorn said, rubbing his head as his mind tried to wake up further. "You spoke to Bilbo, then?"

"You know that Bilbo has left for your father's lands," Mithrandir reminded him, and Aragorn nodded. He had heard that rumor, that and a few other ones, but he had not gone to investigate it. The attacks along the border had become more frequent—not that he did not think it best if he was not too close to where the ring was. "And none too soon, I fear."

Aragorn frowned. He did not like the sound of that. He looked around for the other rangers, but even Cordof, who rarely left his side, was gone. "Do you think he has succumbed to the influence of the ring?"

"He was able to leave it behind—he left everything to Frodo—though it was very difficult for him. I fear that he has spent too long with it, though his resistance is admirable, if it is indeed the ring we believe it it to be."

"You don't know if it is? Did you not examine it?"

"I have had a glimpse of the ring, yes, and because of it, I became even more troubled than before, but I needed more information," Mithrandir explained. "I left to consult the records to be certain of what I had seen and long—yet not long enough—suspected."

Aragorn would have liked the wizard to say that it _was _the ring, that it was worth his presence here, that they needed to be where it was to protect its bearer and prevent the dark lord from discovering it. He did find the Istari's way of not quite answering the questions he was asked annoying. "Does Frodo know what Bilbo has given him?"

"I told him to keep it a secret and keep it safe. I did not tell him of my suspicions."

"You do not think that he can handle knowing about it? Should he not know that he is under threat? If the nazgûl come for him, he will have no warning, no way of fighting them—he is only a hobbit. You cannot think that he can face this alone."

"I am going to warn him now, though he will not be alone," Mithrandir insisted. He put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "In a very short time, he will have need of your protection—not from a distance, but at his side, where you have always fought best—beside friends."

Aragorn frowned. "Are you saying Legolas will be there? What of Gollum?"

Mithrandir hesitated, and Aragorn found himself wondering what the wizard was not saying this time. "When you speak to Frodo, remember that he knows me as Gandalf. He will be suspicious if you use Mithrandir, even if it is the name you have known me as most of your life and the one the elves use for me."

"I do not think that he would fail to understand. Many of us carry other names," Aragorn began. He shook his head. "You have me worried, _Gandalf. _What has happened with Gollum? What of Legolas?"

"In time, Aragorn. First I must ask you to be in Bree, and when I can, I will join you and Frodo there. If, for any reason, I should delay, take him to your father's lands without me."

"Gandalf—"

"There is not time for questions now, nor is this the place. All will be explained in time. Now, go."

* * *

><p>"Nazgûl. It would be them," Varyar said, leaning back against the tree and trying not to give into the pain moving through his body. "If the Valar exist, then we must be cursed by them. Why else would the ringwraiths hunt us?"<p>

"Gollum." Nostalion answered. "That thing should not have survived Mordor's torture, but it did. It was probably released for this purpose—for them to hunt."

Varyar did not know that he believed that. "Why would anyone want that thing alive? It serves no purpose and no master."

"There were some... rumors in Thranduil's palace," Nostalion began, and Firyavaryar knew why he had not spoke of them before—Nostalion hated anything less than a fact, and he did not repeat rumors, not without another option. "Some thought Gollum had the one ring—and lost it."

"We are cursed by the Valar," Firyavaryar muttered. He closed his eyes, holding back the lecture on why he should have known about this before they went hunting Gollum. "I thought this thing was some kind of disease that formed out of all the ones that Draugminaion gave me, but having one of the nine so close..."

"It feels like a shadow poison? Like something that would draw you into their realm?"

"I do not know. The pain is more intense than usual, and I think they may be aware of us. I do not know that they care, though." Varyar forced his eyes open again. "Where are we? Do you know this area? I do not."

"I believe we are in or near the Shire."

"We are close to _hobbits? _Why would this thing go after hobbits unless—a _hobbit _has the ring? Oh, that is it. Kill me. I do not want to see Middle Earth go into darkness. I refuse to serve Sauron—I refuse to be his weapon."

"Varyar, I know you are in pain, but you sound like an elfling, and a pathetic one at that."

Firyavaryar almost laughed. "I sounded like Idhrenion, though he would hate me for saying so. The wraiths are between us and Gollum, yes?"

Nostalion nodded. "He has not moved, but I do not know that they will not find him, if they _are_ hunting him. I am not certain—"

"Do not use your ability on them. That will get you taken as a servant for Sauron, and I would not be able to rescue you as you would me," Varyar warned, pushing himself up the tree. "I may be a walking plague, but I doubt that I can kill a nazgûl. We cannot fight them."

"No, we cannot."

"Where are the others? Imladris still? Safe? And Legolas—"

"His _echil _is not far from us," Nostalion said, frowning. "Perhaps... in Bree? This would be simpler if I saw a map, not just the strange things that I can sense from people when I track them, but I do not. If his _echil _is there—"

"We go for the ranger," Varyar said. "He will not want us there, he would not like it, but I do not think we can allow the heir of Isildur and the hope of men to go against wraiths alone."

Nostalion grunted, apparently disagreeing with that statement.

* * *

><p><em>Now I know what <em>Ada _felt like, _Aragorn mused, watching over the hobbits as they bickered amongst themselves. _He must have felt this way so many times with me—and not just me, Elladan and Elrohir as well. We must have made him insane, though he usually did manage to remain calm._

Aragorn tried to remember his father's example as he led the hobbits out of Bree. He had known several hobbits over the years, though none were quite like Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. In some ways, he thought they were like children. That was an unfair oversimplification of things, though it was easy to make the mistake of thinking them childlike given their size.

Any dwarf who heard that thought would have attacked Aragorn with an axe for it, and he would probably have deserved that.

He knew that it was more than just their size working against them. They were not only half his height, but they were also farmers, gardeners, and fools. They had no training in how to fight, though he knew they would if they needed to—the trouble was that even though they had been followed and frightened by black riders, they seemed unaware of the true danger they were all in. They did not all know the true nature of the ring—he would not have some of them know that, even if they were well intentioned hobbits—but that did not excuse some of their behavior.

They were not _careful. _None of them were, not enough. Frodo and Sam paid more heed to things than the others did, but one look at Sam's pack and Aragorn wanted to shake his head—he did not know how to travel for a journey like this. One took as little as he could carry, only what was absolutely necessary, but then hobbits had a completely different idea of what was necessary than a ranger who had been on the move most of his life.

_Legolas, I wish you were here with me, _Aragorn caught himself thinking more than once, wanting his friend to be with him—Legolas' elven patience and calm would help a great deal with the young hobbits, but more than that, he would like all of them and be amused by their antics as well.

The truth was, he missed Legolas' company, and he also would feel more assured if he was not alone with the hobbits as their only defense. So far, he had yet to see the ring he knew Frodo carried, and he had not asked to see it, had not trusted himself to, but he did not know that he would always feel this way. Would he be able to resist the ring's pull alone? His ancestor had not. That weakness was his, inherited down through the generations. Perhaps it was foolish to think he could overcome it, that somehow his actions might lead to his becoming king and reuniting the land.

He looked over at the hobbits. He envied them their carelessness sometimes, and yet he was still frustrated with it. He knew that they had been isolated from the bad for so long that they could not know what they were headed into—his rangers had seen to it that the hobbits and other people of the north were protected all these years—but that naivete grew frustrating even as he occasionally felt jealous of it. To have so few burdens, such a simple existence—that could almost pass for peace in a world that had not known it for too long.

"How well do you know Gandalf, Strider?"

"Not well," Aragorn answered honestly, and Frodo frowned at him, and he smiled. "One thing I have learned about wizards is that they know far more than they say, and they are not people that can be known well, not even by the elves."

"Do you know many elves?" Sam asked, curious. Aragorn had noticed that he seemed rather interested in them, and that was another reason why he would have Legolas with them—to answer all the questions the hobbits might have about elves, though even now he could picture the look that Legolas would give him if he did.

"I know several elves, Master Gamgee, and them I would say I know quite well."

"But Gandalf," Frodo pressed, his face still lined with worry. "What do you think has happened to him? Why did he not meet us in Bree as he said he would?"

Aragorn did not know that he wanted to admit that he did not know what had happened to Mithrandir or where he might have gone after his visit to Frodo. Perhaps it had taken longer to travel than he had thought it would, or perhaps he had gone directly to Imladris to wait for them. "If anything has delayed him, I am certain we will hear of it soon."

"Supposing—just supposing, that's all—that Gandalf was dead. How would we know?"

"Sam!"

"Sorry, Master Frodo, but it _is _possible, and I just thought—"

"Lord Elrond should know his fate. He is a powerful and wise elf," Aragorn told them, not wanting to upset Frodo further. He himself feared the worst when he realized that Mithrandir was not coming, but he did not know that he could let these young ones despair. He had to keep them believing that all would be well when they reached Imladris, even if he knew that it would not be.

No one would be safe until the ring was destroyed.

He saw Frodo close his hand over his shirt. "I hope you are right. I do not want any harm to come to Gandalf."

"Nor do I," Aragorn assured him, though he knew it already had.


	12. Strange Forms of Hope and Deliverance

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twelve<br>Word Count:** 4,640**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So... I am not entirely certain why I thought it was a good idea to go back to the book version when I do not have the book to consult or a good idea of how to write Glorfindel, but I thought he deserved to be the one who did the ride with Frodo, and it being Arwen complicated things too much in my little world because he might not say anything, but she would, so she couldn't be there.

There are a few phrases in this section from the arwen-undomiel site again, what Glorfindel says in Quenya and what Varyar says as he's leaving. I wish I knew elvish because I would have put together something a bit different for that, but I haven't managed to learn any of the dialects yet. I'm too busy losing the French and Spanish I once knew.

So... _Tullen tye-rehtien. __Nás harna_ is I'm here to help. He's hurt. And _Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu_ _vilya_ is May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.

And I forced myself to go back and try to write the action I was avoiding. I don't know that it helped, but there did get to almost be some action plus an overdue explanation of the scenes in _Storms _as well.

* * *

><p><strong>Strange Forms of Hope and Deliverance<strong>

"We must stop and camp."

"I know that the hobbits are camping, and the ranger scouts for the wraiths, but stopping is not our sort of luxury," Nostalion said, casting his eyes toward the ruins of the watchtower. The assassin was annoyed, but then they had been hunting for so long in such inhospitable circumstances as to where anyone would be frustrated, even Legolas, who tended to be more patient. "They have what little shelter there is to be had around here, and the wraith do not track them alone. This area is too open, and we cannot rest when the nazgûl ride."

"I do not want to be difficult, _gwador,_ nor am I pleased to admit to a weakness, but I cannot continue like this," Varyar said, pushing back his hood and hair and trying to clear the obstruction from his vision. He did not know if it was the wind or the rain or their combination that was making the damage to his eyes seem worse than usual, but he knew that he could not keep going right now. "I have done more than I normally would have in a storm. You know this, but the longer we persist, the worse I get. I cannot see, and I have lost all ability to orient myself in this place. I would call it forsaken, but it is not. I know it is not, but I am—the dreams are on me faster than they have ever been before, and if I am not feeling the sickness because of the storms, then I am sick because the wraith are close and I can feel that."

Nostalion turned back to face Varyar, taking hold of his almost recoiled from him when his eyes shifted memories and the present and he saw someone else—_something_ else—there. "Why have you not said anything? How far can you see right now?"

"Not far at all. You are rather... shadowy. I think I am too close to that realm at the moment. Either that or I am confusing memories again—I remember seeing Draugminaion appearing like that once when I was very feverish," Varyar admitted. "And I am cold. It is like the water or the wind has soaked through to the deepest parts of me, only I thought they contained only poison."

"You were not like this when we ventured close to Mordor."

"Maybe when I fell I upset whatever balance was keeping me from completely succumbing to the sickness within me and now it is happening, or maybe it is the ring trying to bind me like the wraiths are—you do not feel it?"

"I feel something any time I try to use my ability. That is why have not been tracking as much as I usually do," Nostalion answered, cursing. "We are both crippled here."

"I know that, and I would say that we must abandon all of our tasks, but we cannot run when they are going where we would seek shelter," Varyar said. He started to close his eyes, but his whole body stiffened as he looked behind him. "Nostalion, they are coming."

"You are in no condition to fight."

"I do not think they want us," Firyavaryar said, trying to calm his body because tension only made the pain worse. "I cannot tell where they are, only that they are nearby. It hurts, and I am losing more of my focus than before."

"I can look—"

"No." Varyar fixed his eyes on what he believed was the watchtower. "We may as well go for the same place as the others. If nothing else, we can be what gives them time to escape."

"And your sister will never forgive either of us."

Varyar almost laughed. "I would say she would understand the cause of the greater good, but while she does, she would still be angry with us. She is not that understanding. The greater good can happen, should happen, but never at the cost of those she loves."

"I should say something about her managing to be so naïve, but we both agreed long ago that it is better that she sees the world the way she does and not the way we do," Nostalion said as he started forward, dragging Varyar with him. "If I have to carry you—"

"I would make a joke now, but I fear you might have to do just that," Firayvaryar muttered, stumbling. His legs were weaker than they had been since their escape from Draugminaion. "I think the wraiths are already at Amon Sûl. Every step I take toward it weakens me further."

"Then we cannot help them."

"You could. As long as you do not use your ability, you can fight, and I do not know that the ranger can drive them off on his own."

"If you expect me to leave you out here on your own, you are a greater fool than I have ever—that was one of the hobbits."

Varyar nodded. He'd heard that scream as well. "I think we may have argued too long. The wraiths are upon them."

Nostalion shoved him against a tree. "Stay there. I do not know if there is anything to be done, but if there is, I will do it."

"I am not explaining to my sister why you died, so you _will_ live," Varyar called after him, leaning against the tree and cursing himself for his weakness.

* * *

><p>"I do not understand <em>Ada." <em>

"Perhaps he feels insulted as well, having my nephew reject his gift as he did," Ehtyarion said. He shook his head. "Or perhaps it is that he feels that Gollum should be found in his land by his people, and not by any other means."

"I fear Gollum has already fled far from our lands," Legolas said, shaking his head. He did not know what had happened to that creature, but he did not think it was anywhere in Greenwood anymore. Perhaps if Nostalion _had _been here when it escaped, they could have used his ability to track it down, but he did not think that they would find Gollum, not now. That creature must be gone, and they could not regain their honor by recovering him, not now.

"I agree, but your father does not."

Legolas sighed. "You know he is wrong. We both do—we must go find Nostalion or—"

"Prince Legolas? Your father is asking for you," a servant said from the doorway, and Legolas nodded to her, though he did not know that he was ready to argue with the king again. He did not want to fight with his father. He did not know how else to fix what he had done wrong. Half his patrol was dead, many others were injured, and Gollum had escaped.

"Perhaps now he wants to listen."

"And perhaps I should order you to accompany me for my protection," Legolas said. The captain shook his head, but he followed anyway, as was his duty. Legolas was relieved—he would rather not go in to speak to his father alone. "You are willing to go to Imladris with me to find your nephew but not to face my father?"

"That is different. I will not commit treason. If he wishes you harm—then I think I must fail in my oath," Ehtyarion said, and Legolas frowned, trying to determine if the other elf was teasing or not. "I cannot go against the king's wishes. He is the king. You are only the prince."

"It is times like this I miss Estel," Legolas said, tempted to sigh. "And Varyar. They are not—were not—afraid of my father."

Ehtyarion shook his head. "It is not simple, the position that you put anyone in when they disagree with your father's decisions and agree with yours. I should have forsook my oath centuries ago when I realized what trouble you were. How could anyone protect such a willful creature?"

Legolas made a face. "You could resign. Or ask for a new assignment."

"How could I? This is the greatest honor in the kingdom," Ehtyarion said, and Legolas stared at him. "You are the one thing your father values above all else, and it is a privilege to protect it. Not always a pleasure, but still a privilege."

"I have to wonder if your nephew shares your sense of humor. It would explain why Varyar would keep company with him," Legolas said, and Ehtyarion looked at him, raising an eyebrow in that way that all elder elves seemed to have perfected.

"Are you going to suggest that my sense of humor is why you do not keep company with me?"

"No, though I am starting to wonder what happened when you were attacked because you are not the guard captain I remember," Legolas told him, stopping to prepare himself before facing his father.

"I think it was the presence of the _gwinig," _Beridhren said. "I have not seen so many grown elves make such fools of themselves before, and I hope I do not see it again."

Ehtyarion snorted. "Says the one who is determined to have the king allow him to go to Imladris to find and tutor that child."

"I have never bonded," Beridhren said. "My pupils were my elflings, and Idhrenion was a favorite with a gift for learning. As such, she is almost my own granddaughter."

"And I am nothing, I suppose?" Legolas asked, folding his arms over his chest though he was amused by his tutor's reaction.

"Not as adorable as Thenidriel," Ehtyarion corrected, and Beridhren laughed. Legolas frowned at both of them, and Ehtyarion pushed him forward into his father's chambers.

Legolas straightened up, trying to appear composed as he walked toward his father. _"Ada? _I know you wanted to see me, and I was hoping that I could talk to you about—"

"Elrond has called a counsel."

"He has?"

"I believe, knowing what we do of the creature Gollum, that the one ring has been found," Thranduil said. He looked at Legolas for a long moment, and the younger elf fidgeted under that gaze. "Our efforts to search for him will continue, but you must go to Imladris and tell them what has happened. Some may already be aware of those facts, but not all will be. It is supposed to be a meeting of all races—watch the dwarves. They are not to be trusted."

"Yes, _Ada." _Legolas did not know that his father had to worry. He did not intend to have any dealings with the dwarves. He would still like to speak to Nostalion if he was there, and he would enjoy seeing Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and the baby again. Legolas wondered how much Thenidriel had grown in the time since the others had left.

"You are my son," Thranduil went on. "I may not always agree with your choices, but I trust you will know what needs to be done and see that through."

Legolas smiled. "Thank you, _Ada."_

The king's eyes left him and found the guard captain. "Ehtyarion, since you have accompanied Legolas here and are to accompany him on his journey, there is something else I wish for you to do, someone you must speak to while in Imladris."

"I thought we were giving up the search for Gollum."

"Legolas." His father's tone was a warning. "This discussion no longer concerns you. Go and ready your things and come see me before you leave. I would like to say a proper goodbye."

The prince frowned. That sounded unpleasantly like the king did not expect him to return.

* * *

><p><em>Darkness had become his only companion, all that he knew.<em>

_Firyavaryar did not lift his head. The pain was too great, and it worsened with every movement that he attempted to make. He had become accustomed to this prone position on the hard floor, and he did not know that he would move from it again. He did not know that he could ever have believed that Ogol's torture could almost be preferable to this, but at least there he saw light. He felt as though this place was free of all of it, leaving him to know only black whether his eyes were open or not, through day and night and somehow whatever he suffered was made worse by this darkness, the shadowy whispers in his ears, the pain and the sickness, fevers and chills..._

_He would have liked to see the sun again, would have loved to feel the warmth of a breeze through the trees, but such hope was foolish, something he had long since parted with as the darkness lingered on, as the pain continued, and the shadow grew in his mind._

_He would never see home again, never see Idhrenion or Sérëdhiel again._

_He would always be in this darkness._

_He wanted to die._

Something grabbed hold of him, and Firyavaryar heard the shadowy whispers again. He struggled in its grasp before he recognized the language was not that of Ogol or Draugminaion or their orcs. He shook his head and frowned, almost thinking he saw Legolas for a moment, but no, that was only the hair and its illusion faded quickly, helped by the fact that this elf spoke to him in Quenya.

"_Fó. __Tullen tye-rehtien. Nás harna."_

Varyar looked at Nostalion leaning against the other tree, and he did not know what had caused him to be huddled in such a way—had he faced the wraith, then? Was he wounded? He must be. He would have woken before the other elf got close if he was not. Firyavaryar cursed himself for passing into another waking dream. "If you did that to him, I will be annoyed. As it is, you are fortunate that you only grabbed my tunic. You could have died. Do not touch me again."

The other elf frowned. "I am here to help. I thought you had somehow survived an encounter with those that I now hunt."

"If you are going after the ringwraiths, you are insane," Varyar said, pushing himself up with the tree's help. "I know they were around Amon Sûl—the storm. Yes, I felt them during the storm—there was a storm... I cannot remember clearly. That one was supposed to help the—oh, _gwador, _please tell me that you were only an idiot, not a hero."

"What?" The elder elf did not care for Firyavaryar's words, that came through in his voice.

Varyar ignored him, going over to his brother and trying to rouse him. Nostalion should not have done it on purpose, but if he had, he had done it because Varyar's distraction had let the wraiths get too close to the knew that they would be unable to avoid the nazgûl forever, not when they followed Legolas' _echil _and someone bearing the ring of power, but they should have been able to fight._"Gwador-n__ín, _can you hear me?"

The other elf knelt down beside them. "He would not rouse when I tried to wake him. I do not know what ails him. I could see no signs of injury, but yet he is unreachable. I have seen comas and catatonia, but this is different. I have seen nothing like it before."

"I am certain you have not. We are special mutilations, the pair of us, and what we have there is no cure for," Varyar said, checking to be certain he had his gloves on before he examined Nostalion closer. He did not know how he could bring the tracker out of something like this—it was usually his sister's touch and voice that did. He did not think he should use the dark tongue around this other elf, either, but it was the option he favored. He spoke in the quietest whisper he could—that language needed nothing more. "If you make me tell my sister that you died, she will never forgive me."

Nostalion grunted, forcing himself into awareness, glaring at him. "Your sister forgives you everything."

"At least that woke you," Varyar said, taking care to resume using Sindarin. "You scared our rescuer over there, and I do not know how long either of us was incapacitated."

"Rescuer? Do not tell me that we had to be rescued by the ranger and his hobbits."

"Now who is being the elfling?" Varyar asked, smiling, and Nostalion glared at him. He turned back to the other elf. "We are fortunate. If I had tried to wake him the way my sister does—"

"I would kill you," Nostalion said, and Varyar laughed. The assassin shook his head, stopping with a frown, tensing at the sight of the third elf. "Who are you and what do you want with us?"

"I was trying to help," the elder elf said, his tone suggesting that he regretted that action. Varyar knew that all who crossed their paths did end up with those kinds of regrets. "Who are you that would demand that answer of me?"

"I am... Gildin," Varyar answered, using Mithrandir's name for him. He had a name he went by when they lived among the _edain, _but he did not think that the elf would accept it. "My brother is ashamed of his name, so I will not give it."

Nostalion snorted. "You are the one that should be ashamed of _your _name."

The elder elf put a hand to his head. "It is like being with the twins. What are you two doing here? Were you attacked by the wraith or not?"

"You know Elladan and Elrohir?" Varyar asked, and then he cursed himself and his poor memory. He knew that elf, and the elf knew him, though their acquaintance was brief. Glorfindel. The balrog slayer. Varyar forced a smile. "My condolences. Thank you for your assistance, but we must go now. Our prey is escaping."

"I thought you said hunting nazgûl was insane."

"It is, but we do not hunt them. We track prey of a viler sort."

"Orcs?"

"Something worse."

Glorfindel almost looked amused. "I almost think I should like to see what is worse than wraiths and orcs, and yet I would not."

"It has long since eluded us. The ranger and the hobbits are that way," Nostalion said, pointing in the direction his ability told him they were. "The wraiths were on them last I knew, but now they are not. They are close, though. If you seek them, you should hurry."

Glorfindel frowned, but if he thought about asking how Nostalion knew that, he did not ask. He turned away, walking toward a horse that approached him. He swung himself onto its back. "Very well. You should know that there are those who would be glad to know you are alive, Firyavaryar."

"Not if the ranger dies," Varyar said. _"__Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya."_

* * *

><p>"You shouldn't have let him take him," Sam said, not for the first time, and Aragorn frowned at him. He knew that the hobbit was worried, but he could not allow this to continue. He had to find some way to stop the hobbit's fretting because it was getting to him and the others. "I know it was far from here to Rivendell, I know he was doing poorly, but I made a promise and—"<p>

"Peace, Sam. Glorfindel will see him safely to Lord Elrond," Aragorn assured him. He did not know how else to reassure the hobbit. His friend would fare better in the care of Aragorn's father, and he trusted that if anyone could heal Frodo, it was his _ada. _Sam, though, he did not know Elrond, did not know of his skill and dedication. All he knew was that he feared that Frodo and Glorfindel had been killed by the wraith or by the shadow sickness that Frodo had been poisoned with.

"But supposing the horse stumbled or supposing they got caught by the wraith or supposing they were too late—"

"You rush to add to your burdens, Sam. We must hope that Frodo and Glorfindel reached Rivendell safely, and we cannot allow ourselves to believe otherwise, not until we know differently."

"Um, Mr. Strider," Merry began, and Aragorn looked down at him, almost expecting the hobbit to be tugging on his cloak. "I don't want to be adding to our burdens, but I think I see one of them riders in the trees."

Aragorn frowned, turning back to look at the trees. He had not sensed anything, though his attempts to reassure Sam had distracted him. He took in the figure, almost thinking it was a shadow for a moment, but then he saw it was indeed what Merry thought it was. "I do not believe that is a wraith. Stay here a moment."

"Shouldn't you maybe... um... shoot it with your bow? That might be a good idea," Pippin said, moving up behind Aragorn.

"Maybe Pippin's right. I mean, supposing it's an orc or something—"

"I think I am insulted, or I would be if I considered hobbits creatures of any kind of intelligence," Nostalion muttered, coming out of the trees. Aragorn grimaced, but then he did not expect the former assassin to be anything close to diplomatic. "I must say, _echil, _you have a strange choice in companions."

"I would say the same about you, Nostalion."

The elf inclined his head, pushing back his hood and allowing the hobbits to see him for what he was. The four of them stared at him, but no one said anything, not even about the scar on his face, still in awe of his arrival and unique appearance. "The one you object to most is gone, and if you say anything about Sérëdhiel, I would be forced to defend her honor—and you would die."

"Peace," Aragorn said, holding up his hand. He did not want to fight with the assassin. He was aware of his own limits. He had not the same skill as an elf trained from birth to track and kill, not even with all his brothers and fellow rangers had taught him. "You startled the hobbits, that is all."

Nostalion almost sounded amused when he raised an eyebrow. "Just the hobbits?"

Aragorn tried not to get too annoyed with the elf. "I recognized you for what you were and not one of the wraiths. I do not know how you came to be here, but I did know your dark outfit when I saw it."

Nostalion gave him a slight smile, as though that statement amused him further. "I am on my way back to Imladris."

"Back to Imladris?" Aragorn had heard that his father had accepted them into the land, but as it had not come from his brothers, he had not been quick to accept it as the truth. He did not know anyone that could turn the baby away, but he still thought it was dangerous to have that family as guests. "Then the rumors are true and you did settle there."

The elf shook his head. "We settle nowhere. However, Sérëdhiel is there, and I will return to her."

"Is she your wife?" Sam asked. He had shown curiosity about elves before, but now he had one to talk to, unlike Glorfindel who had rushed away with Frodo, and Aragorn would have thought he'd never get Sam to stop if not for Frodo—though Nostalion would never stay long enough to answer half those questions. "If I had Rosie—I mean, if I had a wife, I don't know that I'd ever want to leave her. Why'd you do it?"

Nostalion gave the hobbit a glance that was far from indulgent. "I was hunting something. I lost it. Now I return home."

Aragorn would not have thought the elf would admit to that, nor would he have thought that Nostalion, of anyone, could lose what he was tracking. "You lost your prey? Is that even possible?"

"You know nothing of what being near wraiths does to my tracking."

That was true. Aragorn still did not know if he understood the elf's ability, but he had sometimes compared it to the way the wraiths hunted in his mind, and if that were true, crossing paths with one of them would be dangerous if not painful for an elf like Nostalion. "I imagine that made it difficult."

"As I said, I lost it."

Aragorn nodded. He hesitated and then asked, "You were not close enough to know if the wraiths or the hobbit—"

"If you seek comfort, you might know that the wraiths are scattered, and the elf made it to Imladris unharmed. I assume that anyone with him did as well."

"How do you know that?" Sam demanded, and the elf shook his head. He had no intention of explaining that to the hobbit, and Aragorn knew he could not force him to do so.

"Some elves have... gifts. Nostalion's is for tracking, and you can trust him to know where Glorfindel is as long as he has met him, and since he apparently has, we know that Glorfindel is safe in Rivendell. That means that Frodo is likely also there, and we can make haste toward them knowing our path is clear and our friends are safe," Aragorn said, touching Sam's shoulder. The hobbit looked up at him with a smile.

He turned to Nostalion. "Thank you, Mr. Elf, sir. We appreciate your help."

Nostalion frowned. He did not seem to think he had helped at all. Aragorn felt a strange sort of smile overtake his face. "You know, Sam, because Nostalion's family is in Rivendell, you will have the opportunity to see something very rare and special—a baby elf."

"Elves have babies?" Pippin asked, frowning.

Nostalion glanced toward him. "Exactly where do you think we come from, _p__e-channas?"_

Aragorn gave the elf a warning look that the hobbit missed.

"Um... I'm not exactly sure."

"'Course elves have babies, you idiot," Merry said, elbowing Pippin. "They're not so different from us."

"Oh, aye. Just taller and older—"

"Wiser."

"Hey!" Pippin cried out, shoving at his cousin. Merry pushed him back, and Nostalion shook his head, starting to walk away instead of watch them squabble.

"You two," Sam muttered, getting in the middle of them and separating them. "Enough. I want to go see Mr. Frodo. I want to know that he's all right. Let's go."

"But—"

"Sam is right. We should go," Merry said, nodding thoughtfully. He looked over at Aragorn. "Just how rare are elf babies anyway? Hobbits are born all the time, and you'd think with how long the elves live they'd have lots and lots of babies, but I think this is the first I've heard of such a thing."

"I want to see the elf baby." Pippin suddenly decided. "Is the baby a boy? Is it his son?"

Aragorn almost laughed as he got the hobbits moving again. Nostalion would hate that idea. "No, _she_ is his niece, and she is a very adorable baby. I do not think that Nostalion wants children of his own."

"I'd say that was a shame that was, but he's kind of intimidating," Sam said, frowning. "Not sure I can picture him as a father. Now my gaffer, he's—"

"What does Nostalion mean?" Pippin gave him a look. "What? Don't all elvish names have meanings?"

"Many do," Aragorn agreed. "Nostalion is... kind fortress."

"I don't know that I'd say he was kind, but I can see him as a fortress," Sam mused. "Kind of like you, Mr. Strider, only taller and older and not as nice though not as smelly..."

Aragorn knew that wherever Nostalion was, he was laughing at him now.


	13. Counsel before the Council

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Thirteen<br>Word Count:** 3,435**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So... I realized that I committed a couple of big... er, sins with this fic. First, I failed to do enough research. That became clear to me after the last chapter where I tried to add back in Glorfindel. Second, the story is, I fear, more about an original character than it is about the characters of the fandom, which really means I should just be writing Varyar's story for my own enjoyment and not posting fanfic because it's not what it should be, not truly.

I almost didn't post this chapter as I'm still trying to decide if those sins are even slightly forgivable and if this story should come down or not. Since I haven't been able to keep this story updated at the same pace as Storms, so maybe it would be better if it was not continued. I don't know.

* * *

><p><strong>Counsel before the Council<strong>

"I think I should be offended."

Sérëdhiel looked up, torn between what Legolas thought was an instinct to run and a smile. She laughed, and he went over to embrace her. He was glad that they had not left Imladris before he reached here, not this time. These were his friends, his adoptive family, and he was glad to be among them again, even though his visit would be short and the circumstances surrounding it were dark indeed.

"You are willing to stay in Imladris but not in my father's land? Yes, I do believe I am very offended," Legolas said when he stepped back. "I do not understand. I told you that you were welcome. _Ada _told you that you were welcome."

"Your father does not know that you were betrayed by my brother. If he did, he would not be so gentle with any of us."

He did not like to admit that she was right about that. He knew his father would be angry if the true circumstances of his capture by Ogol were known, but he did not think that anyone would ever tell him—why would they? It would gain them nothing. "I still do not believe that you should have had to go."

"If it appeases you any, I believe we will soon leave Imladris."

"What? Now? When the council has been convened and the ring is found and darkness is growing? No, Sérëdhiel, do not go."

She shook her head. "I do not like how long we have remained already. Were Nostalion here, we would already have gone—"

"Why will you never settle?"

"It is... our life, Legolas. We do not have a home or a people. We are our own, and we must make our way separately. That is how it has always been, and how it will always be. When we were younger, we thought that we could change that, that we could find some place where we would feel safe and welcome, one where Ogol would not find Varyar and hurt him or any of us. The last time we tried to stay somewhere... Well, that time went poorly, but even before then..."

Legolas touched her arm. "What? I thought you had some place where you could go. That was what it sounded like when you left after Varyar died."

She lowered her head. "Alassë told you some of what it was like with her family, but not much as she will not break their rules even now, and I think you would have to know a great deal more about them to understand what it was like there, but the truth is—we were not welcome or at peace there. Varyar ended up a walking plague because of what he had to do to negotiate our passage through that land, and it was only because they were terrified of him and Nostalion afterward that we had a measure of peace. They would not challenge him because he could kill them in an instant and turned their main weapon against them."

"Nostalion?"

Sérëdhiel nodded. "Varyar was convinced—and he was correct in being so—that they had abandoned Nostalion to his fate after he was unable to save Turvuin. They worked together to get Eruaistaniel back, and by the end of that, they were near inseparable. However, his family does not fear him on his own, even with his abilities and training. They believe they can make him loyal again, and they would have used me and Alassë to make that happen."

Legolas shook his head. "I do not understand. How come you to all this trouble?"

"Varyar used to say we must have been cursed by the Valar."

"That is not true. It cannot be—you are all good, too good for what you have suffered."

"That belongs to you, _gwador, _not to us," she said, patting his cheek. "I think you will be wanted down in the council chambers, not here with us."

"Other delegates have yet to arrive," Legolas said. "I am not going to leave until the others are ready. Until then, I will spend my time in the company of friends. Now, where is Thenidriel?"

Sérëdhiel laughed.

* * *

><p>"I don't see why we couldn't all have seen Frodo now. It's not like he's not our cousin," Pippin muttered, unhappy with his hosts' decision to bar all but one hobbit from the room where Frodo recovered. Aragorn did not think it was meant in any kind of reproach—and he would even say that his <em>ada <em>did not quite understand the bond between these four hobbits—but having traveled with them for as long as he had, he'd known that they would be disruptive to anyone sleep and healing.

"I'm going to see Mr. Frodo right now," Sam had insisted, and though Aragorn thought his elven hosts could have disagreed with him, no one did. Glorfindel seemed almost amused as he led the hobbit away, but the other two hobbits had been dismayed to learn that they were going to have to wait to see Frodo until after Sam had gone.

"Do you suppose they'll change their minds about that?" Pippin asked, fidgeting. "If they're going to make us wait until Sam leaves, we'll never get to see Frodo."

"They probably figure he needs his rest," Merry told Pippin, getting a snort from the other hobbit. "I don't know that we will ever be allowed in there, not all of us. No arguing with Sam, though. He's gone a bit too far as Frodo's gardener, if you ask me."

"Aye," Pippin said. He looked up at Aragorn. "You think we can see the baby elf? Since we can't see Frodo, I'd like to see this rare elf."

Aragorn smiled at them both. He knew that this decision would displease even more elves than trying to argue or sneak their way in to see Frodo, but he would take them in to see Thenidriel rather than have Frodo's recovery disrupted. He knew that they had been close to losing the ringbearer, and he did not want anything to harm Frodo's return to health, not even his friends. "Yes, come. I will introduce you to Thenidriel and her family."

"Will Nostalion be there, do you think? He could have gotten here before us, couldn't he?"

"I do not know if he will be here or not. He said this was his destination, but Nostalion comes and goes as he wishes, and he usually cannot be seen when he does." Aragorn frowned after he said that. It was strange that he had seen the assassin—that the hobbits had spotted him first. That seemed unlikely. For some reason, Nostalion had _allowed _himself to be seen, and that did not make sense to the ranger.

"I think it would be better if he is not," Merry said. "I don't think he liked us much."

"It is not just you. I suspect that Nostalion likes no one besides Sérëdhiel," another voice said, and Aragorn looked over with a bright smile, unable to contain his pleasure at seeing that elf again.

"No one?" Pippin repeated. "That's a sad sort of life, isn't it?"

"I do not believe there has been much joy in Nostalion's life," Legolas told him. "He had one other, one very close and dear friend, but he died recently, and so I fear it is only Sérëdhiel that brings him any sort of comfort."

"Not even the baby?"

"Thenidriel is adorable, but she is not that powerful. Not yet," Legolas answered, laughing. He smiled. "I have seen her turn kings into fools, though, so she may yet be a force worth fearing."

Pippin's eyes grew large, and Aragorn shook his head. Now the elf would have the hobbit believing terrible things about that baby. He pushed the hobbit forward, falling into step with Legolas. "It is good to see you again, _mellon-nín. _Long have the days been since I left you in Mirkwood. I did not expect to see you here."

"_Ada _sent me when Elrond called for the council. I do believe he assumed you would make it, and I am quite glad that you did."

"We had assistance. Glorfindel, mostly, though I suppose you could give Nostalion some credit for what he told us about Frodo's fate."

Legolas frowned. "It is not like Nostalion to volunteer such information. I cannot see why he would. We are not... friends. Perhaps if Varyar had lived he would have been more willing to ally himself with us, but Varyar is gone, and Sérëdhiel threatens to leave daily, so I do not know that we can expect any assistance from them, though I would have asked for it. Estel, there is something you should know—"

"Are all elves as tall as you?"

Legolas looked down at Pippin. "What?"

"The hobbits are very curious about everything," Aragorn told him. "Though I think we could distract them with their promised visit to Thenidriel—or perhaps some food."

"I could go for some—what do elves eat?"

Legolas met Aragorn's eyes over the hobbits' heads, and he nodded. Yes, they were always like this. The elf gave him a look of pity, and Aragorn almost grabbed hold of him before Legolas could slip away. "We should take you to see Idhrenion and the others. He will answer your questions. He is a very knowledgeable elf."

Aragorn frowned. "Idhrenion?"

"A fine scholar," Legolas insisted. "He was always reading, and now that he is a father, he is a good choice for their instruction."

Aragorn tried not to laugh. He spoke in elvish, rude as it might have been. "Alassë could kill you for that suggestion."

"She just might."

* * *

><p>"Here, dearest lady. We came across these flowers on our latest patrol, and we thought you should have them," Elladan said, bowing as he offered the blooms to Eruaistaniel. "They cannot compare to your gentle beauty, though."<p>

She flushed red, backing away as though she would run if she had not become cornered against the wall. "Please, my lords, stop this. I do not wish to be... to be noticed. You are gracious and kind, but I do not want this attention."

"I believe you need it all the more because you do not think yourself worthy of it," Elrohir said, giving her his own bow. "It is our duty as hosts to make you feel welcome and appreciated, and we have never failed in our obligations."

"Almost never," Elladan corrected, and his twin looked back at him, acknowledging his words with a nod. Elladan turned back to her. "Please take the flowers. You should have beautiful things to repair these wounds in your spirit. If our mother had been able to—well, we would do for you what we could not for her."

Eruaistaniel looked as though she might cry. The twins had fine, admirable intentions, but they were still terrifying her. Varyar did not want to announce his presence, not to the twins who would not withhold his survival from Legolas or his _echil. _He would have thrown something at them if he could have gotten them both with it, but he did not think he could. As it was, his own position was about to be discovered, and if it was, all would be lost. Still, Eruaistaniel had his protection, and he had to do something about this.

"If it is true you seek to heal such a wound, I must urge you to cease," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I do not believe you can, and I have tried—I had not the courage—but you must understand... I love one I cannot have, and that pain is not one that can be healed."

Varyar frowned. That was clever of her to say, but he had thought she did not love the one that her family betrothed her to years ago. At least if it worked, she would have no more trouble from the twins. They would understand and leave her alone.

"Give us the name of the fool, and we will ensure that he learns how to appreciate the treasure that you are," Elrohir said, and Varyar was once again tempted to throw something at him.

"You cannot," she told them. "He... has passed to Mandos' halls."

"Then take these with our sympathies, dear lady, and try to remember that there is still hope despite his loss," Elladan said, pressing the flowers into her hands. He gave her another bow before departing with his brother.

Varyar glared at their backs until they were out of sight and he determined it was safe to drop down beside her. She jumped, a scream not quite passing through her lips as she stared at him. He grimaced. He had not meant to spook her so badly.

"You are the only one I have seen in the open," he told her. "I did not know where the others were or what room to get close to. Nostalion and I had to separate, and I do not track like he does. I did not intend to startle you."

"Were you listening to that?"

"I heard a bit. I do not see why you would mourn that fool you were supposed to wed, but that is not my concern. Where are the others?"

She sighed. "In the rooms. They rarely leave. None of them want to socialize. It was my mistake to choose to look at Lady Celebrían's gardens. They are so beautiful, but Lord Elrond's sons have been so... persistent."

Eruaistaniel shuddered. Varyar touched her arm, and she stared down at his glove. "You handled them well—Sérëdhiel would have done something similar, I believe. Now, I need to know where the rooms are so that I can stay close but not get caught here. There are so many from so many different lands—"

"You could almost pass for one of the _edain _now," she said. "It would seem nothing to them to wear gloves and dark clothes, and then you could walk almost freely in this strange mixed company."

"I lived in Imladris for a time. The elves will recognize me. One already has."

She trembled. "Will he—You cannot stay, then. You are in danger."

"The fate of all Middle Earth is to be determined by this council. I will not leave."

* * *

><p>"It is very good to be in your company again, <em>mellon-nín," <em>Legolas said, turning to Estel now that they had escaped from the hobbits and left them with Sérëdhiel and the others. Idhrenion's look had promised vengeance, but Legolas had to admit that he feared that far more from Varyar than he ever had his brother. "I have missed you as well."

"Even with the rift between us when we parted company?"

Legolas looked at him. "What rift?"

Estel laughed. "Can it be that time and distance has repaired what we could not fix before? Is it that simple?"

"No, it is not," Legolas said, knowing that he must confess to Estel how he had come to lose Gollum and everything that followed after that. "I have thought on it for a long time, as I suspect you have as well. I still forgive Varyar, and that has not changed, but I do not need you to forgive him to be at peace—with myself or with you."

Estel smiled. "That is good to hear. I have also thought about it, as you suspected. I have not yet reached a point where I forgive Firyavaryar, but it is not my place to forgive him. I cannot hold against you your decision to do so. You were the one wronged, and it is your choice whether or not you will forgive."

Legolas nodded. "How wise we sound all of a sudden, as though we have gained some kind of intelligence in our time apart as well."

"Impossible."

They both laughed, and Legolas found himself content. He knew that they were about to be tested. He thought the last of the delegates for the council would arrive today, and if they did, then it would begin in the morning. The ring's fate would be decided—_their _fate would be decided. He would have to tell everyone about Gollum, about his failure, but he felt as though now he was more prepared for that confession than he could have hoped to be if he had not managed to mend the rift between him and Estel. This was what he had needed and been missing.

"I should tell you all of my travels," Estel began. "The hobbits are extraordinary creatures, you know."

"You sound as though you expect me to believe you were not exasperated by them when I found you earlier."

"It is true that they have been a bit of a trial at times, but they are fun and admirable as well. You might never see a more steadfast soul than that of Samwise Gamgee," Estel said, and Legolas nodded. He was willing to let Estel tell him all of his adventures, to the smallest details about the hobbits, glad to be in the presence of a friend but also relieved to have something else to speak of besides Gollum and that embarrassing failure.

"There you two are," Mithrandir said. "I take it you have discharged the hobbits upon some of the other guests here and have secured your own counsel for a moment."

"Yes, but while I expected the moment to be brief when I informed Estel of Arwen's presence, I did not expect the interruption to come from you," Legolas said, frowning a bit. "I thought you were with Frodo. Has something happened to him?"

"Oh, no, he is quite well for one with a wound such as his," Mithrandir answered. He looked at each of them in turn, nodding thoughtfully. "I sense that all is well between you again."

"It was almost mended when Estel left, but I do not believe it is our friendship that concerns you at present," Legolas continued, getting a nod from Estel in agreement. "Is there something you would have us know or tell you before the council convenes? It will begin in the morning, will it not? I thought the last of the delegates was due today."

"He is, and he will be here soon."

"And?" Estel asked. "Is there something that you know that we should know?"

"First I must ask if either of you have seen the elf known as Nostalion, and then I would speak of other matters that concern us all," Mithrandir began, and Legolas could not help feeling worried by that. He was about to be exposed for something he should already have told Estel.

"Do you seek to hunt something?" Estel asked. "You know that he—"

"I seek answers, and I believe he has them, but if you have not seen him, then it will keep," Mithrandir answered, and Legolas did not know what answers he thought that he could get from Nostalion, but he did not think that the Istari would get them.

"I saw him outside Imladris. He revealed himself and reassured the hobbits that Glorfindel and Frodo had arrived in Imladris, but since I have been here, I have not seen him," Estel told the wizard. "I still do not think you would get him to help you. He said something about moving on as soon as he rejoined his wife, and she expressed similar sentiments to Legolas."

"That is as it should be, then."

"I do not think so," Legolas said. "I do not want them to go, and I do not like that they cannot find peace. Sérëdhiel spoke of what they had endured before Varyar returned to Greenwood, and it is not right. You are a servant of the Valar—why would they afflict them this way? They may be Avari, but not by their choice—Sérëdhiel believes in the Valar, and she is not the only one who would. Why should they be punished?"

"Is that what you believe is happening to them?"

"It seems that way, yes."

The Istari let out a breath. "Many that live in times like ours face unpleasantness. Many are made stronger by it. We all have our burdens to bear, and this may be theirs. We cannot know all that is at work yet. We must trust in the strength of our companions, for it will be our strength as well."

"Why, then," Estel began, "do I sense that you do not trust one of our companions?"


	14. Fools, Pets, and Paths

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Fourteen<br>Word Count:** 3,079**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> Well... I admit to being still very much on the fence because a part of me does think I should have quit before I was behind, but I did manage to put together some of the stuff that I had been meaning to do for a while now, though Varyar's incident with the cloak is not what I expected it to be. It... works, though, I think.

And after this, the fellowship would be on their way, so... That means progress.

* * *

><p><strong>Fools, Pets, and Paths<strong>

"I think I could hit one from here."

Nostalion gave him a look, and Firyavaryar smiled. He knew that he should be quiet—they were not invited to the council, and they should not be talking because there were far too many elves around to hear them, but he had gotten rather bored with the singing—when he thought about it, he had only liked two singers in his life—perhaps three—his mother and sister, the perhaps being Legolas. He would almost believe that someone was creating a production for a theater of some kind rather than convening a council to answer the question of how best to save Middle Earth.

Varyar's mind found too many occasions to pass into his waking dreams instead of focus on what he should be doing, and he struggled to keep himself in the present. "I think with the right aim, it could make that annoying little hobbit—"

"No."

"Since when are you the kind one?"

"I am not being kind. I would just as soon silence them with my dagger, especially since every moment outside of the council seems to be occupied with them invading our rooms to see Thenidriel until one of them convinces the others that they need a smoke," Nostalion said, eyes darkening as he considered the hobbits. "Yet I know that killing them will make everyone aware of your presence here as well as condemn us in their eyes. They like those creatures."

"Almost impossible to believe," Varyar agreed, looking down with a scowl. He was not pleased with the constant visitors to his brother's child—he was not able to spend any time with his family when they were always being hosts to someone, and he did not risk sleep when he was alone, not here.

"We have talked too much. Someone is aware of our presence."

Varyar cursed. He climbed over the other side of the roof, sliding down out of sight. He heard Nostalion moving as well, knowing that he would have drawn the sentry he had sensed away from Varyar. He could return to their rooms for now, as he had the last few times that he had almost been uncovered.

He started to move, but his cloak caught on a part of the scaffolding, and it jerked him backward, cutting off his air. He clawed at the clasp, trying to free himself from it.

"_Get back here, pet," Ogol ordered, yanking back on the chain, and Varyar could do nothing as he was dragged back to the throne, skidding across the stone floor unable to grip with his feet as his hands went to the band around his neck. He knew that it was unbreakable, he knew that he could not get it off, but he always tried when Ogol wrenched him around like this._

_He fell at Ogol's feet, panting, trying to draw in air, but Ogol pulled the chain again, forcing Varyar up almost into his lap. "You know where you belong. Why is it you feel you can leave where you are supposed to be?"_

_Varyar could not get enough air to speak. He lowered his head, trying to breathe, but Ogol reached for it and forced him to look up._

"_You are mine, and you will remain at my feet and by my side always," Ogol said, leaning forward, and Varyar flinched, backing away from those eyes, the ones that had terrified him when he first saw the "trader" that killed his mother._

"_Let me go."_

"_Last time I did that, I lost you for almost a century. I do not think I will repeat that mistake. You will be where I can see you always."_

_Varyar tried to turn away from him, but Ogol grabbed his wrist, twisting it in one hand as the other yanked the chain, and Varyar could not even scream when the bone snapped. Ogol let his arm go, keeping his hold on the chain._

"_Now kiss the feet of your master."_

"_I would rather spit in your face," Varyar told him, cradling his wounded arm against his body, and Ogol kicked him. Firyavaryar hit the floor, his head on the creature's boot, and he did not bother trying to lift it up again._

_He knew he would not escape Ogol twice. He would have to hope for death._

* * *

><p>"You came alone tonight," Sérëdhiel observed as Legolas entered their rooms. He nodded to her words, though he was not entirely displeased by his current state. He had been in the company of many through all the long days, even late into the nights as the songs and entertainment continued, and though he tried to keep his heart light, many things preyed upon his mind until his unhappiness grew. Estel had tried to speak with him about it, but they were often interrupted.<p>

Here, though, he thought he would have some peace until someone else wanted to see the baby, but most had gone down to the other halls tonight. "I believe that Estel has gone to speak to Arwen tonight. It will be his last opportunity."

"Then you have reached a decision—the council has," she corrected herself, moving over to the bench. She sat, and Legolas would have joined her if the door to the other room had not opened.

"Legolas," Idhrenion began, his voice a bit cool. "Nazgûl would have been more welcome company than those hobbits you inflicted upon us. Since when am I a wizened scholar? They would have me be the most knowledgeable of all elves when other than my daughter I am the youngest one here."

"You are?"

"Alassë is three days older than he is. This is sometimes an amusing topic of discussion, but it would not be tonight," Sérëdhiel warned. She patted the spot next to her, and Idhrenion went over to take it. He leaned his back against the wall. "Legolas has come to tell us what the council has decided."

Idhrenion frowned. "We will not like this, will we?"

"I do not believe so."

"Do not believe what?" Alassë asked, coming into the room with the baby. "Oh. Legolas is here again."

"You need not sound so displeased to have me visit."

She glared at him, holding her child close to her. "I would not be so displeased if I did not know of your willingness to give my child away to anyone who asks you for her. I told you not to take her from our rooms, but you did. You did, and then when I found you, you did not have her. You gave her away."

"Who am I to refuse the sons of Elrond?"

"Only the prince of Greenwood," Idhrenion muttered, shaking his head. "I do not know which of you is worst—Elladan, Elrohir, or you."

"You would group me with the twins? You wound me."

"I think he cannot be considered quite at their level," Eruaistaniel said as she came into the room. She looked around with a frown, walking over to the window, still troubled. "He has not pursued anyone with their determination."

"I do not believe the twins mean any harm by their attentions. They sincerely like you, and everyone should like to see that smile that graces your face so rarely come out more often."

"Speaking as one who has endured their 'flattery,' I know they have chosen the wrong method for that," Sérëdhiel said. "Though I have noticed they have not come by as often as they did when we first arrived, which is odd as they are in the city and not hunting orcs."

"I told them I loved someone I could not have, and they have stopped tormenting me as much," Eruaistaniel answered. She flushed, and Legolas thought it was quite charming on her.

"Firyavaryar would be honored by your love for him."

She stared at Legolas. "No. He is not—he would not be. You are—"

"You are upsetting her," Nostalion said, dropping in through the window she stood beside. Legolas had not expected that, but he had suspected that the assassin was among the eavesdroppers he had heard rumors of, the ones that Ehtyarion had taken up the task of finding.

The captain should be here, now, but then he seemed willing to take up any assignment that might keep him from his nephew's family despite his obligations to Legolas. The prince did not need his guard with him, but he did find the other elf's behavior strange. He had come, in part, to suggest that Nostalion track Gollum, but he had not even spoken to his nephew.

"I am fine, Nostalion," Eruaistaniel told him, managing a small smile for him. "Almost, I suppose."

He frowned at her and then looked to the group, focusing in on his wife. She shook her head. "No. We have been waiting for your return, but it did not come."

He grunted, but he did not join the others. His eyes went to Legolas again. "They talk a lot and say nothing."

Legolas smiled. "There is much history there. Many things must be recounted before an accurate decision can be made."

"The decision was simple, and everyone knew it before this started, other than those too greedy to see sense," Nostalion disagreed. "The ring has to be destroyed."

Sérëdhiel turned toward Legolas. "You have volunteered for this. You are going to be the one that destroys the ring."

"Not myself alone. I am going with eight others to take the journey," Legolas agreed, and she shook her head. Nostalion muttered a low curse, and he turned to go out the same window he had come in, leaving everyone frowning in his wake.

"I think he is right," Sérëdhiel said. "You are a fool."

"I need to atone for my failure in allowing Gollum to escape," Legolas said, though he did not know that he could say that was his only reason for volunteering. "Estel is my friend, and I would protect him with my life. Besides those things, we all know that our fate is tied up in that ring. I cannot turn away from this assignment."

"I did not think you would," Sérëdhiel told him. "I still think you are a fool."

Thenidriel clapped her hands together, giggling, and Legolas frowned. The _gwinig _could not have understood what her aunt had said, but she had made everyone laugh, even him in the end.

Legolas looked at his _gwathel. _"Let us speak of better times that may yet come if we succeed. Do you think that your niece will someday bring more pleasantness to your husband's demeanor, Sérëdhiel?"

"I believe you are expecting some sort of miracle that will not occur," she said, frowning at the window before forcing a smile. "And you do not understand at all—I love him the way he is."

"I think you are the one that is the fool."

* * *

><p><em>Firyavaryar shuddered, holding his broken wrist against his chest and wondering how far below the earth they were that the chill had settled in enough to bother him. Elves did not feel cold, but he did. He felt it deep within him—or perhaps he was confusing his despair with the cold.<em>

_One of the orcs shuffled up to him, and he tried to get away from it, but he could only back away so far before the chain dragged him back._

_It spat something at him in the dark tongue that he did not understand, and he cried out when it got hold of his wrist. The chain jerked, and he found himself dragged up by Ogol's bed._

"_Perhaps you should reconsider your stubbornness about sleeping at my feet, pet," Ogol told him, laughing a little as he used the chain to force Varyar even closer to him. He pulled Firyavaryar up onto the bed, and the warmth of the blanket was so unfair a torture after the cold stone. He wanted to stay where he was, as humiliating as this whole incident had become._

"_Behave, and I will let you have your own blanket," Ogol coaxed, combing through Varyar's hair._

_Firyavaryar almost jerked away before he realized what he was seeing. He stopped, staring at the face before him. This was his monster? This was Ogol's true face? He was not at all intimidating without the robes. Even the eyes that had scared him seemed to be gone._

"_You are an imposter. A fake. You play at being more than you are, but you are nothing at all. You are pathetic," Varyar told him, but then he was forced to remember why Ogol was a monster after all as the chain was yanked so that he could no longer breathe, unable to stop his other wrist from being broken._

"Wake now, _Gildin," _someone ordered, and Varyar shuddered, curling up against himself, even though he knew that voice was not Ogol's. He could not draw himself far enough out of the memories, and he could not make the pain of them fade, not when his body still ached from the sickness within him. He could not wake, did not want to, not to this life, not again.

"No."

"Young Thranduilion likes to tell tales of your dislike for the morning hours, and I do believe I witnessed some of those moments myself, but this is not the dawn that you hate so much. This is twilight, and we cannot allow the darkness to fall any further than it has already."

Varyar shook his head. "No. I am the darkness, do you not understand that? Leave me alone."

"_Gildin," _Mithrandir said, and Varyar opened his eyes to see the Istari looking at him with pity. "You must continue on—"

"Get away from him, wizard. You have done enough damage," Nostalion said, and Varyar did not know how to express his relief. He dragged himself forward to his _gwador's _side, collapsing against him. Nostalion frowned down at him. "What has happened? You left before I did, and now I find you here with him."

"He did not do this to me," Varyar said, unwilling to speak of the waking dreams in front of the Istari. "He woke me, and he can go. And we will go. I am not staying here for any kind of discussion. I am not well at all."

Nostalion dropped his voice to the quietest whisper he could manage while speaking the dark tongue. "You are feverish and cannot stand. You are certain this is not the wizard's doing?"

"My cloak caught, and I relived how Ogol kept me on a chain—a leash for his pet," Varyar answered, ashamed of his weakness—now and then. "I think it lasted longer than most of the dreams do, but I do not know. Let us go. Please."

Nostalion moved his arm underneath Varyar's, attempting to take on most of his weight. The wizard stepped toward them, but Nostalion pulled away, dodging his attempt to touch Varyar. "I told you to leave him alone."

"I can ease his pain for a time," Mithrandir said, speaking a few words that did seem to lessen the ache in his body. "There. The storm is calmed. I must speak to you before you go, and I do not have time to wait for you to heal—"

"No one does. There is no cure for what I have, remember?"

Nostalion grunted. "He is leaving in the morning. The fool is going with eight others to take the ring to Mordor, to Mount Doom, to destroy it. That was the decision they finally reached after all that talking."

"I would not go with you for all the fortunes of the kingdoms, not even for the cure for this plague," Varyar told him. "If you are going, Istari, go. Leave us in what little peace we have."

"I am indeed departing in the morning," Mithrandir agreed. "However, as I said—before I go, I must speak to you."

"No. I will not follow you or your manipulations again."

Nostalion shook his head, and Varyar frowned at him. Why would his _gwador _think that he would agree to anything the wizard asked of him? To _that _task, of any of them? He could not go into Mordor, and they both knew that.

"I carry enough shadow already," Firyavaryar said, facing the Istari. "I cannot go near Mordor. You should know this. Why would you ask that—why would anyone think I could _think _of going that way?"

The assassin looked at Mithrandir with contempt. "He is taking Legolas with him."

"What? No. I do not have the strength to follow him or stop him, and you will get him killed, you damned Maia. You pretend to walk as something of light, but you are evil," Varyar said, trying to sit up. He would not stay here any longer.

"You are having them again. The waking dreams."

Varyar stiffened. He should have known that even the dark tongue could not keep their secrets for them, but he did not think they had betrayed that much. "What do you know about my dreams?"

"I see them as a possible answer."

Nostalion tried to help him stand, but Firyavaryar had to stop him, needing to sit back down. "You think they mean that Ogol is alive. You want me to confirm that. You want me to tell you who he was because he survived and all of that was for nothing."

"We do not know that," Mithrandir said, touching his shoulder. "Your dreams may mean that he lives, yes. There is a part of me that has feared for some time that your Ogol is the same as Saruman, who has betrayed us."

"Then you know I have accomplished nothing with my death or my betrayal of Legolas—"

"Only you can tell us if Saruman is the same as Ogol, and I would ask this task of you, yes," Mithrandir agreed. "If Saruman is not Ogol, then you have eliminated another threat from the land before our darkest time. If he is Ogol, then you must face him again and free yourself."

Varyar pushed up his sleeve, trying to find the marks. He had not seen them since Ogol's "death," but that did not mean they were not still there. "I hate you, wizard."

"Yes, I do believe you do, but you will not turn away from the course that is before you."


	15. The Choice of Paths

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Fifteen<br>Word Count:** 3,522**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I told myself that I had to just keep plowing through, that there were still pieces that I had in mind that I would like to have in the story (though they are action scenes, what is with that?) and reminded myself that I do not like leaving stories incomplete, so I continued writing, hoping that I can make my way through this even with my faults.

Speaking of faults... I have a possible replacement for the dying laptop, but it is a very different thing trying to use a tablet to post. There may be more typos than usual. l tried to catch them, but it is difficult on this screen.

* * *

><p><strong>The Choice of Paths<strong>

"You have not said much since we started out,_ mellon-nín."_

"We have an audience," Legolas said, unable to bring himself to discuss the things still weighing upon his mind when he knew that all the others could hear them. This was not like traveling with Estel in the past. He did not feel free to speak of all his fears in front of the hobbits, to admit to weakness before the dwarf, and some of the thoughts he was having, he would rather not have in front of Mithrandir.

"Is that all?" Estel asked, sitting down beside him while Boromir trained the hobbits to fight. Legolas knew his friend was the better swordsman, and that should have been his role, but Estel had allowed it to be Boromir's this time.

"Many things weigh upon me at present, Estel, but I would not say that I feel ready to speak of them," Legolas began, and the ranger nodded.

"I do not think it is right for you to blame yourself for Gollum's escape."

Legolas frowned. "How can you say that? You did not sound like you felt that way when I revealed those events to the council. You sounded as though—"

"If I made you feel at all that I blamed you, it was not my intention. What I reacted to was the fact that you did not tell me. We had said our friendship was mended, but you did not tell me that you were attacked and that the creature escaped." Estel touched his shoulder. "I was both worried for you and angry because I was not told."

"I tried to, but you must admit the nights were full and there always seemed to be someone present to interrupt us."

"I know, and I am not judging you, Legolas. I know that must have been a hard time to speak of, especially before such an audience. I do not envy you speaking of such things. It was difficult enough to hear the story retold of Isildur's folly, even though it was not my own," Estel said. He let out a breath. "I do not know what to think of Gollum's escape."

"I think it is a danger to us, and I wish I had been able to ask Nostalion to track him down—I think he could have since he was at the palace at the same time as Gollum was a prisoner there—but something always seemed to prevent me from asking. First _Ada_ did not want us to leave to find him, and then he was not here when Ehtyarion, Beridhren, and I arrived, and then he was unavailable before we left on this quest."

"I think Mithrandir would say that he had other tasks to accomplish."

Legolas nodded, not looking over at the Istari. "I know he would, and most times I would tell myself to be content with that, but I am not content. I cannot continue feeling as though he knows more than he tells us. I do not like it. His words before that last day of the council bother me."

"You are the one that was willing to trust a friend that you had not seen in centuries," Estel reminded him. "You must hold to that faith and trust to sustain you through this journey. You can accept the others into your company, even if you would distrust them under other circumstances."

"It was different with Firyavaryar," Legolas said. "I knew him before, and I knew even at his worst, he would still protect his family. Whatever else had changed, that had not. These ones—they are strangers to me."

"That does not mean that you cannot work with them."

"Arwen agreed to marry you, then."

Estel frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you seem to be in that delirious sort of mood that comes from believing anything is possible and nothing is impossible, and that means that you have gotten something you did not think you could have—therefore she has reaffirmed her devotion to you and you are still feeling that delirium of love."

Estel glared at him, and Legolas laughed.

* * *

><p>"You are in no state to travel."<p>

Firyavaryar closed his eyes, leaning against the wall of the chamber. Sérëdhiel looked at him, aware of how weak her brother was and how much he struggled. She did not want to see that, but she knew that it was not much that kept his body from being overwhelmed by the sickness within it. She knew that he could not sustain himself forever.

"I have to go. As much as I do not want to be manipulated by Mithrandir, if this Saruman is Ogol, only I would know of it. I cannot even—when I try to think of Ogol's face, it confuses itself in my mind, blurring with the hood and the eyes and even Draugminaion," Varyar said, shaking his head in frustration. He combed his fingers through his hair and stopped, frowning. "Impossible."

"I told you it was growing longer," Eruaistaniel said, and then she flushed and lowered her head with a wince. He glanced at her, but she would not look up to meet his gaze.

"We must go to Isengard," Nostalion said. "I think that some of us might prefer if our foolish task was to follow that fellowship along its way, but it is not. Our task is to learn if Saruman is Ogol and if Ogol survived."

"And to kill him," Idhrenion said. He put his arm around his wife's waist and sighed. "I do not know that I like either idea, Varyar. I also do not like what I know is coming next. It is time for us to leave Imladris."

Alassë cursed. "Not again."

"I have come to say that you are not supposed to leave."

Sérëdhiel was not the only one who whirled to see the open door and Ehtyarion standing there. She frowned. They all should have heard it opening, and Nostalion generally knew when someone approached them even if the others did not.

She swallowed. "Ehtyarion—"

"I believe I now have enough leverage to make you acquiesce to both of my requests," he said, glancing toward Firyavaryar, who glared back at him. "It is not the way I prefer to accomplish my duties, but I have taken oaths I would not turn away from, and protecting Thranduil's son is only one of them. My loyalty was once to family—"

"I told you—I am not your family," Nostalion said. "I do not believe my mother was the same Vinyafaeniel that you knew. The coincidence is strong, but it is not proof."

Ehtyarion shook his head. "You do not know how much you resemble her, not just in looks but in certain mannerisms that I could never forget. She had a certain sense of determination to her that you also possess—and that glare is very much hers."

Firyavaryar studied him. "You think knowledge of my survival is leverage. What for?"

"The first is that both King Thranduil and Lord Elrond have expressed desires for your family to remain in either elven realm, a place where they will be safe rather than follow you on your task. I do not know if the king has been made aware of it, but I do believe Lord Elrond knows that you are to seek Saruman, who might be Ogol." Ehtyarion glanced toward the baby. "Taking that child anywhere near there is a risk."

"You act as though Varyar and Nostalion are the only ones here capable of defending her," Idhrenion said, annoyed. "I know I was still very much a child when you knew me, but I have grown in those centuries since. That is _my_ daughter, and I will fight for her until I am gone. The same goes for Alassë and Sérëdhiel. We chose not to be warriors, but that does not make us defenseless."

"Nor is Eruaistaniel completely incapable of defending herself," Varyar said, not looking at her. He kept his eyes on the guard captain. "If they feel they need to leave, they will. You cannot hold them here with knowledge of my existence. Legolas is the only one to whom such news would be welcome, but that does not mean that it is so great a threat as to hold them in place."

"If it is not, why did you not come forward and say you were alive?"

"I am not certain this existence qualifies as living," Varyar answered. "And even if it does, I see no reason to inflict myself upon anyone. There are some that would consider me a traitor, yes, and because of them, we would all avoid the elven realms. With Thenidriel, we had little choice, but that does not make us welcome or comfortable. It was always their intention to leave when Nostalion and I found Gollum, but that did not happen. We crossed paths with the wraiths and lost him."

"You _were_ tracking him," Ehtyarion said, looking at Nostalion, who grunted. "You know where he is now?"

Nostalion looked at his uncle. "I could learn, but our path is set on a different course."

"Except," Varyar said, turning toward him. "If that thing evaded the wraiths, then it would continue on the course it was on before. Gollum would be following the ringbearer. He would be close to Legolas again. You heard what happened when he escaped."

Nostalion nodded. "What is more important to you—carrying through on the threat you made to that creature or finding Ogol? I do not think we can do both."

"Mithrandir was the one to suggest going for Saruman."

"Fine. We go after Gollum."

Sérëdhiel frowned. "I know that you think redemption is tied in what you can do for Legolas—and it is not that I wish him harm or want Gollum to find him, not from what you told me of what he did to Legolas when he and the ranger captured the creature, but Ogol must be considered the greater threat to everyone. Even if he is not, Saruman is. Legolas is your friend, but you must think of more."

"This from you, of all people, Sérëdhiel? You have never wanted yours injured in the pursuit of the greater good."

"And I do not want that to be Legolas, no, but I fear more what Ogol would do to all of us than Legolas' fate. I fear I am more selfish than I want to be," she admitted, and Nostalion pulled her close to him.

"Family first, again. As always," Varyar said. She was almost relieved to hear it, though she knew that choosing them over Legolas would delay his redemption. He deserved that redemption, that peace, but he would not obtain it with any kind of ease. She pitied him as much as she loved him.

"Here," Ehtyarion said, bringing forward the knife set he had offered Nostalion before. "The king wanted you to have these."

"Even were I worthy of them, I would not take them," Varyar said, shaking his head. "My skin would ruin these fine blades, and I will not do that to something of such value and—Wait. The king cannot have meant me."

"Do not think him a fool. I do not know if the wizard told him or not, but he figured that you lived. They are yours. My duty was to see them into your hands. You must take them or risk displeasing King Thranduil. Again. He believes the prince must be protected with these blades."

"You take them," Varyar told Nostalion. Her husband grimaced, but he stopped forward to receive the knives. "Now we go."

"Meet us in Rohan," Nostalion told her in the dark tongue, adding the knives to the weapons on his back. She thought he carried too many as it was, but Varyar carried none, so they were almost balanced by it.

She nodded. "Be careful. Come back alive."

"And?"

She laughed. "And I love you."

* * *

><p>"Frodo is feeling the weight of the ring."<p>

Aragorn looked up at the Istari's words. He did not care for their possible implications. If Frodo was already feeling the ring's influence, they might never see this quest to its end. They could not expect someone else to be able to bear that burden. Frodo had courage and spirit unlike any Aragorn had ever known. He had shown it already on this journey, and Aragorn knew that the hobbit's nature was what they needed for a ringbearer. They could not rely on one of the "older" members of their party. He, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, and Gandalf were all too full of the weight of their world. They were all warriors of some kind, ones that had fought all their lives. They carried too much bitterness, too much death and despair. They had grown hard and weary—easily manipulated by the ring.

Frodo was not so old, not so scarred. the maintained the innocence necessary to counter the ring. Yet if it was already heavy...

"What are you thinking?"

"I do not know," Mithrandir admitted, sitting down next to him. "There are many things at work, and I fear I have extended myself too far in too many directions."

Aragorn frowned. "I thought your only goal at present was to lead us to Mordor, to Mount Doom, to destroy the ring."

"It is—or rather, it should be. Unfortunately, with our enemies growing, I have been occupied with thoughts of them as well." Mithrandir sighed. "I do not know that I will always be able to lead this expedition. Someone may have to take over in my place should my distraction prove too great."

"Why would you think it would? You believe they could have some kind of hold over you here? What, through Saruman?"

"Saruman's betrayal concerns me greatly. I have been wondering how I did not see it, and I cannot help but fear that my ignorance will cause many great pain. It may already have done so."

Aragorn frowned. He knew that Saruman was now a threat, but as far as they knew, he had not yet taken action against anyone other than Mithrandir. Saruman was still building his army. They had time yet, didn't they? And yet if someone had already come to harm, then— "Are you saying that you believe Saruman is Ogol?"

"I believe it may be possible."

"Ogol is supposed to be dead. Firyavaryar killed him, didn't he?"

"I cannot say for certain. We found no remains, not of him or Gildin," Mithrandir said, and Aragorn felt himself growing uneasy with this conversation.

"From what I saw of what Firyavaryar did when he used that plague of his, he destroyed what he touched. The corpses decayed so fast as to not need to be burned. There would be nothing of him to find," Aragorn said, thinking back to when he'd been witness to Firyavaryar's unique method of fighting. The orcs that day had died in a mix of brutal efficiency and corrosion leaving behind little. "Perhaps not of Ogol, either."

"That is what is so troubling about this. We cannot know Ogol's fate."

Aragorn frowned. "Are you thinking—"

"Strider!" Merry cried, rushing over to them. "I knocked Boromir's sword out of his hand. You should have seen it."

"I am sorry to have missed it, Merry," Aragorn assured him quickly. He would have thought there would have been more noise if such a feat had occurred, but he had missed that as well. Looking up, he saw Legolas frowning at both of them, and he was almost grateful for the interruption. His latest thought was out that bothered him, trying to rob him of what little confidence he had left. Their quest was one of foolish hope. They would likely all die before any of them saw Mordor. This would lead them all to their deaths.

Aragorn forced a smile, looking at Boromir. "Would you call it beginner's luck?"

"No, indeed, it was a fair battle, graciously won. They may need to practice against both of us from now on," Boromir said, reaching over to ruffle Merry's hair.

"Hey! I helped," Pippin cried. "He wouldn't have been able to do anything without me."

"Or a certain axe," Legolas said, getting a glare from the dwarf. He did not seem to notice, much to the dwarf's annoyance. "Short people need more assistance, I suppose."

"Why, you pointy-eared—"

"It would seem, then that it was a team effort, and that is to be commended." Mithrandir smiled, covering over the tension. "This is good. We will need such efforts to sustain us in the future. And leadership."

Aragorn grimaced. If anything happened to the wizard, they would look to him to guide them.

* * *

><p>"The advantage now is that our paths are parallel for a time," Nostalion said, taking a breath and extending his senses. Firyavaryar stood next to him, eyes half-closed. He coped poorly with the last few weeks, and though the waking dreams had not come yet, not since they left Imladris, he knew that he would dream again. "We will be able to attend to all of your tasks for a time. You can protect that prince, track Gollum, and go toward Isengard."<p>

Firyavaryar looked at his _gwador._ "Why do you stay with me? l am trouble. l am a plague. I barely remain lucid for more than an hour at a time, and yet you never leave me."

"We had this conversation before."

"Did we? I do not recall."

"Do you remember what you said to me in Draugminaion's lair?"

Varyar almost laughed. "No. I cannot focus and in Draugminaion's lair, I was too feverish to know much at all. There were orcs, lots of filthy orcs, and I think I vomited on one of them. Were you there?"

"'I vowed to protect my family.'" Nostalion looked at him. The assassin was displeased, and Varyar knew not to provoke the other elf, but he also knew that none of them had to follow him. They were all fools for doing so. They could be safe somewhere, well and truly safe, not discomforted in the elven realms because of their connection to him. "You called me _gwador_ first. You took me on as family. You are a fool to forget that."

"I am not capable of protecting anyone like this. I am sick, my memory has too many holes in it, and I am so weak that you almost need to carry me. You do not want to protect Legolas. You do not want to track Gollum. Why are you doing this?"

"We both have vows. We both have family."

"I got you to betray yours."

Nostalion shook his head. "You and Sérëdhiel are my family. You are not allowed to die when she is threatened. We will know who Ogol is. I do not care if the prince is saved. I do not care if Gollum is found. I will keep you alive for her."

Varyar nodded. He understood that. If he were stronger, he would have sent Nostalion away a long time ago. He knew himself to be too weak to go on alone. He could not hope to learn of Ogol on his own, could not protect his family this way. "You are the true protector, _mellon-nín_, not me. I cannot hope to do this without you, and were we more fortunate, l think we would want our own group of nine."

Nostalion snorted. "Too many clutter the road. They question decisions and lock us in debate. The faster path will not be taken, or the means understood. You and I know the darkness. You would not tell me not to kill, not now. The ones who would ask us, those we leave behind to do what must be done."

"What prompts this speech?"

"They argue again. I believe it is over their path. They changed it again. They may be moving toward Moria."

Varyar grimaced. "I do not know that even were we determined to follow them that we can take that path. We are not ones for the depths and darkness. I do not know how Legolas will manage it. After Ogol, after that torture..."

"Do not go into that dream. You must remain here."

"I am here," Varyar said, nodding as he moved forward. "Gollum follows them still?"

"Yes."

"We can follow them to the door. If we can catch the creature before then, we kill it. If not, we move south. We are not going into the mines." Varyar knew that their assistance might well be needed within Moria's depths, but he did not think that he would be of any assistance within that realm. Draugminaion had broken him in such a place, and he would remember too much, dream too much if he returned to any area that gave him that feeling. Ogol had known that. He had used that against him and against Legolas. "Our path cannot take us through there. I will be lost."

Nostalion looked at him. "We are already lost."


	16. When Varyar Met Nostalion

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Sixteen<br>Word Count:** 3,261**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So I continue to plow through, working on this as much as I can.

Only I have now really committed my previously mentioned sin. This chapter is all Firyavaryar. I had wanted to go into detail about the past between Varyar and Nostalion, but it never fit before. I could not find anything in Moria that I thought l should cover for the fellowship, and I liked the final scene here, so I worked in some of the past that I'd had in mind back when I started _Storms in Middle Earth,_ the beginning of the deep yet strange bond between Varyar and Nostalion.

* * *

><p><strong> When Varyar Met Nostalion<strong>

"The next time I decide to protect a friend on his course of folly, kill me."

"I do not have to," Nostalion said, slightly amused. "You shall accomplish that on your own."

Varyar glared at him. He was a wet, soggy mess, and he did not have the strength to go after the assassin now. He had managed to kill the creature, yes, but he had almost drowned in the process, so he could not count that as much of a victory. He could not move now. He was too cold, and his clothes were no protection against the plague in their state.

"Who would believe the cure for your fear of water was an ancient, foul creature like that?"

"I was never afraid of water. We are all fortunate that this thing was weak to my kind of poison, otherwise we might all have died," Varyar said. He laid back on the stone, knowing that he could not go anywhere that night. "We must take the path they abandoned and go over the mountain. I cannot think that we will have the same misfortune as they did."

"Being half-drowned makes you that much more of a fool. We may not possess the ring as they do, but we are no more welcome in Saruman's lands than anyone else. We go to see if the wizard is the same as the one that killed your parents and tortured you. He kept you on a leash as a pet. Even if they are not the same, why would any Istari want us to enter his land? We are a threat. We could challenge his authority if not cause his ruin."

"I believe he would underestimate us in that sense, and we carry enough of the shadow for us to fool him if he is not Ogol. If he is, he will be glad to reclaim his pet," Varyar spat. He rubbed a hand across his neck. The cloak had nearly done it again.

_"The creature has the ringbearer," Varyar said, pulling off his gloves, moving down the rocks as he did. They were only supposed to watch. This was where the parallel paths ended. They both knew that. Intervening now would draw attention to them. The wizard might know they were there, but the others did not. The dwarf and man would kill them before they could explain, and Legolas could not know yet that Varyar lived._

_"Do not be an idiot," Nostalion called after him. Firyavaryar would have said it was too late for that, but the tentacle grabbed hold of his foot and dragged him under the water. _

_As he struggled in the darkness, he twisted himself so that he could touch both hands to the tentacle. He hoped that the gloves had fallen on the rocks when he went under. He had no spares and could not afford to lose them in the depths. He held on as the creature thrashed, dragging him along under the water. _

_If this thing did not die quickly, he could die before it did. He had to get out of this water. He would not die in this pond. He would be willing to die in hundreds of other ways, but not in the dark, not here._

_The tentacle shriveled away from him, and Varyar forced himself to swim toward the surface. He gulped in air as Nostalion dragged him over to the shore._

"Tell me you are not planning on handing yourself over to Saruman if he is Ogol. I will follow you many places and do almost anything for you, accept your orders and carry all of them out, but not that. I stood by last time, and you died. You are not going to die."

"Leaving aside that I might want that, I did not say that I would give myself to him, just that we could use that to gain access to him. I can and _will_ kill him if I have to, and I will do the same if we get close to Saruman," Varyar explained. He looked at his _gwador._ We will stop Saruman if we get close, and we _will_ get close."

"That plan I agree with."

"You agree with anything that lets you use your daggers."

"Not true."

_"Almost_ anything that lets you use your daggers," Varyar amended, nodding his head in acknowledgment of the other elf's words.

"That _is_ true."

* * *

><p><em>"You are the leader," the elf on the throne said, watching as Firyavaryar was pushed forward by the sentries. If he had ever believed that meeting other Avari would be a safe haven, this proved that it would not. "Answer me. You are the leader. You are the one they call Varyar. The protector."<em>

_"Yes," he said, willing to accept whatever punishment must be taken for their trespass into these lands. "I am."_

_"You have responsibility for the others. You want them to live."_

_Varyar tensed. "What is it you mean to imply by that? What is it you want from me?"_

_"You have trespassed into our lands. You have violated the security and sanctity of our home. These are not trivial offenses. Outsiders are not welcome here. You should all be executed according to the laws of our people."_

_"I assume, then, that you have some manner by which we are to avoid that fate. What is it?"_

_Sérëdhiel stepped forward, grabbing his arm. "No. Do not do this. We knew nothing of their laws, and they can do nothing to us for a crime of ignorance. Let them cast us from their lands if that is what they desire. We did not want to come here. We will go. Do not do this. Whatever they will ask of you will be wrong, and we all know this. I will not allow you do something you know is wrong."_

_"Silence the female. She has no right to speak here."_

_Varyar glared at the other elf. "My sister will not be silenced, not by you. She may be an_ elleth,_ but she has more wisdom than all of you in this room. You want something from me, want it enough to threaten me. What is it?"_

_"One of ours has gone missing. We sent another for him. Neither have returned. Find him, and we will spare your lives."_

_"If your envoy failed, why do you think I would have any sort of success?"_

_"He failed because he was weak. You do not share that weakness. Two there were that went missing. One he recovered. The other he said he would return for. He has not managed to recover himself. Find Turvuin, and you may pass from our lands."_

_"You are sending them to their deaths."_

_"Only the leader will go. The others remain here," the elf on the throne glared at the _elleth_ who had spoken. "You know not to speak here, Alassë, and you should consider yourself fortunate that we are willing to assist you or your brother."_

_"You did not assist me, Meligur," she said, her voice full of defiance and anger. "Nostalion did, and now you send another in his place—a stranger."_

_"Take her. She has forgotten her place," the leader ordered, and two of his guards dragged the struggling _elleth_ from the room. _

_"You are a monster," Idhrenion said, and Varyar pushed him back before he could gather the leader's wrath upon himself._

_"She knows where your people were taken. If you want to find them, why not ask her?"_

_"You may speak to her after she has learned discipline. She will not tell you more than we wish you to know. You will not leave here alive with our secrets. Ask too much, and you will condemn yourself."_

_Varyar grimaced. He understood more in that statement than they intended him to—they would not leave this land alive. It did not matter what he did. He could find the one that was missing, but that would not buy their freedom. His family would be killed if they attempted to leave._

_"If I agree to this—"_

"If_ you agree? You have no choice. Do this or die." _

_"Meligur, clearly you believe I am a fool. You still intend to kill me even if I do what you want. You have made no statement that would have me believe otherwise. I may consent to play your game, but only on my terms," Varyar said, smiling at the other elf's ire. "You should know that killing me will incur the wrath of a very powerful sorcerer. Also a prince, a Maia, and the lord of Imladris."_

_"You lie."_

_"Challenge them if you wish. I will not go on any task for you when I have no assurance of my family's fate. Show me you will honor your word, and I will give you mine."_

* * *

><p><em>Growing up, Varyar had been indifferent to the race of <em>edain._ He had fought some before, ones who teased Idhrenion, but he did not have a true reason to hate them until now, with their filth surrounding him, stale ale and pipeweed, with bruises on his body and stories in his head. They were everything Alassë had said they were in between her unwilling tears and grimaces of pain. She had been with them only a short time before her cousin intervened, but she hated _edain_ now with all she was. He now understood why._

_"I have heard it said that elves that are violated fade," the man said, putting the blade up against Varyar's neck. It drew blood again, trying to add menace to the threat, one that needed no additional malice. "Shall we see if that is true?"_

_"You are supposed to sell me, remember?" Varyar asked, glaring at the human. "Why lose the money you are supposed to get for your slave by risking causing it to fade?"_

_"You annoy me, elf, and no one wants one of you as a slave. You fade too easily, all of you," the human sneered, leaning into his face. Varyar knew that the brute was lying—Alassë had not faded in the face of these taunts. Her brother still lived, as did her cousin._

_"You only wish we did. You cannot control us, so you hate us."_

_"I have already been paid for you," the slaver told him, lifting his head. "Think about that before you defy me again. You are pretty enough, elf, and it has been too long since the men had any fun."_

_Meligur. The damned Avari had betrayed him. Varyar seethed as he watched the man leave, chuckling to himself as he did._

_"Provoking them is foolish. Save your strength for when escape might be an option."_

_"Is that how you survive, Turvuin?"_

_The other elf laughed. "It is not, and I am not Turvuin."_

_"Nostalion, then," Varyar said. He looked over the other elf's bonds with a grimace. Nostalion had been made to suffer for getting one of their captives free. He could barely move, so many and so tight were the cords binding him. Those would not be cut through easily, and he did not have the proper tools—any tools—to do it with. This would be more difficult than he had hoped, but the _edain_ had underestimated him, and he had expected that._

_Ogol had learned quickly that Varyar could not be contained by mere ropes. The _edain_ had not. The other elf watched him. "Who are you? What do you know of me and Turvuin? What are you doing?"_

_Varyar finished twisting himself out of his bonds and smiled. "That."_

_"They will bind you tighter if they learn how easy it is for you to slip free of those."_

_"You plan on telling them?"_

_"Depends. Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are you here?"_

_"Hmm. Questions. Did not expect so many. Your cousin claimed that you were more of a mute," Varyar answered, smiling. He did not understand his own amusement. This circumstance was far from ideal. "In short, Meligur has my family. I have to return Turvuin to him to get them free. You are incidental to this. I could use assistance getting out, and since I believe he expects us both to die here, I think I should like to defy him and see you return alive."_

_"Meligur did not send you."_

_"Because he would not have abandoned you or because he never wanted Turvuin rescued?" Varyar asked, getting a flare of emotion from the other elf. "As I told your esteemed leader, I am not a fool. I see this for what it is. Had you defied their orders for Turvuin and succeeded, you would have been forgiven. Since you failed, you are abandoned. That is the truth of it. Now, you can come with me or not, but I do not think this fate is worth staying for, is it?"_

_Nostalion glared at him. "Do not think I will follow you so easily. I have no reason to trust you. You are ill-equipped for a rescue mission. You have no weapons and were captured yourself."_

_"Being captured can be a more effective tool than people realize. All my weapons were predictably taken, but I have learned the value of improvisation," Varyar said, breaking the glass on the table and carrying a shard over to the ropes binding the other elf. He ignored Nostalion's frown as he set to work cutting through the ropes._

_"That will take too long. They will return before you finish, and your hand will be a bloody mess."_

_"Not the first time," he said, continuing to saw. "And it is my hand and my choice. Honestly, if I thought it would not matter, perhaps I would return alone. I know that I cannot, so I will bring you with me."_

_"Do you know what you would condemn me to if you returned me?"_

_"I never said you had to stay there. You can go where you please as long as my family is released. If you help me with that, you can even come with us. Not that you would want to. My brother recites annoying facts, and my sister is infuriatingly logical. She is also, I assume, the reason they want dead. How is your family on breeding stock?"_

_"Breeding stock?"_

_"That was what the sorcerer called it. He offered me some when he last abducted me," Varyar said. He would like to stop himself from talking, but he tended to fill the silence ever since that damned wizard put that spell on him._

_"That was not a lie for the _edain?"

_"Part of it was."_

_"You do not know any prince or the lord of Imladris."_

_"I do. They do not know where I am, and I will not be rescued by them, but I know them," Varyar said, pulling a cord loose. He dropped it to the ground, looking at the other elf. "Did they take all of your weapons? Can you fight?"_

_"Always."_

_"Good. They are coming."_

* * *

><p><em>"I am afraid they are rather... damaged. They went through most of my men before they were subdued. They are trained fighters. That one is the more dangerous one—"<em>

_"I object to that. I may lack the assassin's training that he has, but I am not a weakling. I fought all of them with only one good hand," Varyar said, rubbing at the cut on his palm. He lifted up his hand and waved it at them with a grin that made Nostalion frown. The assassin had not realized his companion was a lunatic. He could have warned the other elf that his latest encounter with Ogol had left him slightly deranged. He had not._

_"They are strong." The client walked toward them, and Varyar tried not to flinch. Why were they always robed? This one was cloaked, but that did not did not change the effect it had on Varyar. This was almost too much like facing Ogol again. Varyar controlled himself, refusing to pull away even as the other being took hold of his chin and examined him. "That is to be preferred. I will need subjects capable of enduring the experiment."_

_"You do not want me. I am insane, I cannot be broken, and there is a psychotic sorcerer who claims me as his. He will kill you if you harm his pet."_

_"You must be desperate to make such a claim. If you were someone's pet, you would not be here," the hood said, stepping back. "No, I do not fear your master, pet. No one will. I will use you as I please."_

_"No," Varyar said. He would kill that creature. He swore it now._

_"If you want them, you will have to pay extra to compensate for the loss of my men," the slaver said, glaring at both of the elves. "I would take that satisfaction from them, and if you want to deny me that, you will pay for it."_

_"You overestimate your value. I do not need you or your men. I do not care if you located these specimens for me, but I do not need you."_

_"Draugminaion—"_

_"Kill them. Bring the elves," Draugminaion ordered, pushing past the slavers and walking out of the room. Orcs rushed in, overwhelming the _edain.

_Varyar yanked on his bonds, trying to free himself. He knew that he could not hope to get Nostalion from the additional bonds that held him. He could only try and get himself out to make some kind of defense. He was conscious again, and despite his injuries, he would fight. He struck out with his foot as the orcs came close to him, twisting in his ropes. His arms ached, but he could ignore the pain if it meant escaping._

_"I hope we get to play with you, pretty. We will cut you up good. No more pretties."_

_"No, I will cut off your head," Varyar said, using what he had learned of the orcs' language. He had been there long enough to hear and assimilate their tongue. "I promise you that, _yrch."

_"You think we are scared of you, elf? You speaking our tongue does not intimidate us. Our master will kill you—if you are fortunate."_

_Varyar slipped a hand free, and when the orc came closer, he grabbed hold of it, tightening his grip around the orc's neck. The creature struggled, slamming him into the wall. He felt his head connect with the wall, trying clear his vision as he maintained his hold on the orc. He would not go without fulfilling his promise and killing that orc._

_"You will not survive."_

_"I thought you were always ready for a fight," Firyavaryar called to the assassin. "Are you going to claim that being tied up is stopping you? Or is it your injuries?"_

_"Neither," the assassin said, using his legs to catch one of the orcs. Even if he could kill several of the orcs, the _edain_ were already succumbing to the orcs' greater numbers. This was not a battle that could be won. They would be taken. They would die._

_Or wish they had._

* * *

><p>Nostalion looked over at Firyavaryar. "We may have a problem."<p>

Shaking away the old memories, uncertain why those ones had surfaced, he swallowed, touching his forehead, trying to force away the pain. He did not want to think, but the waking dreams made it impossible not to. He could not avoid them or the associations the memories made.

"Another besides my constant fugues?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"The wizard is dead."


	17. In Grief and Before Battle

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Seventeen<br>Word Count:** 3,025**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So, to make up for last chapter being all Varyar, this chapter barely has him in it. There are a few mentions of him, as I wanted to do something with the time in Lórien. One version of the events I thought I would include had Varyar going there, learning what Legolas does, but in the end, he did not go there. I also wanted to try to show the shift in things between Legolas and Gimli, but I don't know that I have Gimli in character yet. So... this is largely Legolas, but I don't think that is a problem...

* * *

><p><strong>In Grief and Before Battle<strong>

Everyone mourned. Most did so silently, listening to the songs of the Lórien elves. Legolas found that he himself could not sit still. He felt a profound sense of loss, even though he knew he was not as close to Mithrandir as others had been. He was not someone trained by the Istari. He had not seen the wizard as a replacement for a lost parent. Mithrandir was a friend. He was in some ways a mentor, but not in the same way that he had been for Frodo or Varyar. Even Estel had a different relationship with the fallen wizard.

He left their camp, wandering deep into the Lórien woods. He knew he should not trespass, but his own rest was far from him now. He needed more if he was to gain any form of peace.

"You have gone far from your companions, young Thranduilion."

Being addressed in the manner that Mithrandir used was painful. He turned to face the lady, his heart heavy. He wanted to ask for a distraction, for peace, for absolution. He lowered his head. "I feel no rest with them. I wish I did. It feels wrong to lack solace in their company. Again."

"There is no guilt in how we choose to mourn. We must all grieve as we need, not as others would. You have known much of grief, not enough of hope."

"There is Thenidriel. And Estel."

"And Mithrandir. And Firyavaryar."

"I could not save them," Legolas whispered. "I could not save my friends. Varyar would even have wanted that death. He thought he had nothing to offer, no way to atone for—wait. Was there an _elleth_ that went missing sometime ago, one who had golden hair and perhaps resembled you? Did she have a name, perhaps a family here? I have not been able to ask you or anyone about her, and I know little of her, but Varyar wanted her family to know her fate."

The lady turned, and Haldir entered, guiding in a young _elleth_ in a long cloak. Legolas thought this must be a sister to the one Varyar had heard tortured. His friend blamed himself for causing her death.

"This is Gwilwilethel. She has not spoken much since her return to our lands, but you may have information for her."

"Of your sister?" Legolas asked. "I am afraid I know very little, not even her name. My friend said she was captured with him by mistake, tortured, and he believed she was dead. He wanted her family to have answers, but I do not know that I have given you any."

Gwilwilethel pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing a long mane of bright golden hair, brilliant enough to rival Galadriel's. She studied him with troubled blue eyes, stepping back. "You are not him. His hair was darker. His eyes were darker as well."

_"Gwathel?"_ Haldir asked, frowning, reaching for her. "Are you—"

"It was _you?"_ Legolas stared at her. "Varyar... he said he was uncertain, but he thought—he was convinced that you must have died. He blamed himself. I don't understand."

She turned to Galadriel, but whatever they spoke of, it was silent. She faced him. "I do not know how he could have forgotten. He made a bargain, a terrible one, and secured my release. I have waited many centuries to be able to thank him."

Legolas winced. He did not want to tell her that Varyar was dead. "You should know that he faced that creature that tortured both of you and killed it."

"He said he would."

"I wish he was with me to hear this," Legolas told her, being as honest as he thought he could be, though Galadriel must know the truth. She could make him say it, though she could already have told Gwilwilethel everything he had. "It would relieve him to know you did not perish."

"I would like him to know that. I value what he did well beyond what I can say."

Legolas almost promised to tell him, but he did not manage it. She placed her hand on his arm, giving him a small, sad smile before she turned away. She lifted her hood up over her head as Haldir walked her out of the glade.

"Why did you not correct me or tell her that Varyar is dead?"

Galadriel inclined her head, watching him. "Do you doubt the power of hope?"

"No."

The lady placed her hand on Legolas' cheek. "There is still a _gildin._ Do not lose that."

* * *

><p>"Where did you go?"<p>

Legolas stopped, frowning. He was accustomed to Ehtyarion asking him such questions, to his _ada_ demanding to know where he was, but to have that demand come from the dwarf after his conversation with Gwilwilethel, that was almost as infuriating as it was unwelcome. He was, he feared, more grieved than he had been when he left, despite Galadriel's words about hope. "Nowhere."

"Do not lie to me, elf. You think you can run about in the woods without so much as a word, think you can have secret meetings and plot with other elves—"

"Are you truly so suspicious, Gimli? And would you make grief a crime as well?"

"Grief? And what does a pointy-eared princeling know of grief?" The dwarf shook his head. "You do not seem the least grieved. We lose Gandalf, and you continue as though nothing happened, blaming me all the while for wanting to go to Moria."

"Is that what you believe? Are you jealous because I spoke to Galadriel? I did not seek her out. I was only looking for a place to find peace."

"Is that what the lady gave you?"

"It is what I_ wish_ she could have given me. I am afraid that I cannot find it, not now. Not after losing Mithrandir. After..." Legolas sighed. Why was he defending himself to the dwarf? He did not have to justify himself to Gimli. "I am tired. We should both rest for the night. The journey before us is still long."

"Tell me about this Firyavaryar, then. Who is he?"

Legolas blinked. "How do you know about him? Did you follow me?"

"You spoke of him before, with the ranger, when you thought we were all busy somewhere else."

"You are a suspicious dwarf. I suppose that is... warranted," Legolas said. He knew that he was not what he should be, had not been since Varyar died, and he should not have come on the quest. He would cause another incident like Gollum. That creature now followed them. He had been in Moria. "Have you ever had a friend you consider close enough to be kin? To be a brother? I have. Varyar was one."

Gimli watched him, still suspicious. "Was one?"

"He died." Legolas let out a breath. He did not know why he was saying this. He did not need to speak to the dwarf at all. "It was not long ago. He... fell. He was lost saving all of us from a great evil. Saving me."

Gimli grunted. Legolas did not know if the dwarf cared that he had almost been killed, and he did not know if he understood anything close to what this grief was, the weight of that guilt, the oppression of that kind of loss.

"From Gollum?"

"Much worse than Gollum," Legolas corrected. He sat down. "I know you do not think much of me, not of my kind, but we do not die often. Death for us is difficult, almost foreign. To see so much, to lose so many, to know... Firyavaryar was my friend when I was still a child. That was centuries ago."

"Centuries?"

Legolas wondered if he seemed that young even to a dwarf who should know better. "I have the same friendship with Estel. I would call him brother. I have done so. I will continue to do so. Yet even he does not understand what it is like losing Varyar. Most people would not. There are some that believe he..."

"That he what?"

"That he betrayed me."

Gimli frowned. "You are one daft elf. You mourn someone who betrayed you?"

"No," Legolas said, trying to contain his anger. He was not a fool, and he stood by his decision to forgive Varyar. "I mourn a friend, a friend I have known almost as long as I had Mithrandir."

"Then he did not betray you."

"No, he did," Legolas said. "He turned me over to a sorcerer in exchange for his family's lives. I knew he would. That was something I never doubted. Yet he is still my _gwador_—my brother."

"You are insane."

"I must be," Legolas agreed. "I am sitting here, talking to a dwarf."

Gimli looked at him, and then the dwarf burst forth with laughter, almost falling over. Legolas watched him, suddenly aware that if he could forgive Varyar, then friendship with a dwarf was not so impossible a thing.

* * *

><p>"Legolas?"<p>

The elf lifted his head, eyes coming away from the shore and meeting Aragorn's. He found the look in them troubling. If they were alone, he would have tried to speak to him earlier. The loss of Mithrandir, coming so soon after Gollum's attack, the death of those elves, of Firyavaryar, was all of it enough to make Legolas fade?

It would not be. Aragorn would not permit that.

"Yes, Estel?"

"You have been quiet since we left Lórien. Something is troubling you, and I would speak of it now if we could. I worry over you, _mellon-nín,_ and I would know your thoughts."

"Bah. The princeling's just bothered because he realized my count in Moria was higher than his, and even his new fancy bow will not change that," Gimli said, and Legolas looked at him, frowning. Aragorn found himself echoing the frown, since he had heard nothing of counts. He did not know that Legolas had ever counted his kills, though someone had teased about it. Firyavaryar. Yes, that was something of that elf's, not Legolas. Yet, would Legolas have spoken of his friend to the dwarf? No, he wouldn't have.

"It was Varyar who thought I counted the kills, not me. I never did," Legolas objected. "He did not count them, either."

"Deny it all you want. I know you are ashamed of your total in comparison to mine."

Aragorn shook his head. Legolas smiled. "Very well, Master Dwarf, you may go into that forest and add to your count. When Estel and I finish our conversation, I will give you a true contest, and you will see that my count was always higher, even when you appear to have the advantage."

"Don't need any favors from an elf," Gimli muttered, walking away.

Aragorn turned to Legolas. "I do not understand."

"Nor do I, but a change has occurred since Lórien, and I will not— cannot—argue with it."

"I wonder about that," Aragorn began. "I cannot know the depth of your grief for Mithrandir, andit seems you have known much loss lately. Are you well? Will you be able to continue with us?"

"It is true that I still grieve for Varyar, and Mithrandir has long been a friend of my family. Now I have lost them both. My spirits are low. I admit that much. I have many matters weighing down my heart, including the death of the elves under my command." Legolas let out a breath. " I would not add to your burdens at this time. I know the others look to you to guide them."

"What kind of leader would I be if I did not see to the needs of my friends?"

"A poor one indeed," Legolas said, smiling a little. "You need not worry so over me. It will always be hope that keeps us on our path, and I can still hold to mine."

"You maintain hope amid this despair? Even after losing Mithrandir?"

"Galadriel and I spoke. I was reminded of reasons to hope. You. Thenidriel. There was even..."

"Gimli?"

"Perhaps," Legolas said with a frown. "My thoughts were of someone else. It is—was—a bittersweet sort of hope, though."

"How so?"

"Do you remember when I told you of the _elleth_ that Varyar said was taken with him?"

"Yes. We discussed journeying to Lórien together before we started feeling the rift and strain between us. You found her family, then?"

Legolas shook his head. "I found her. That is, Galadriel knew who she was and introduced us."

Aragorn stared at him. "She was alive?"

"Yes. She did not give me details, but she told me that Varyar made a deal to free her. She said it was a terrible price, whatever it was. She has waited all this time to thank him. I felt she would have sailed if she had not wanted that, and I could not tell her he was gone. Galadriel said she needed the hope. I do not know. I only—Estel, he _saved_ her, and he will _never_ know it. He died blaming himself for her death when he_ freed_ her."

"That is indeed bittersweet," Aragorn agreed. He did not know that he felt it redeemed Firyavaryar, but at least that _elleth_ had not died because of him.

"Still, even with hope, a shadow and a threat is growing in my mind," Legolas said. "I know the dwarf is a capable enough warrior, but I do not feel he should be out there alone. I will hunt with him."

Aragorn nodded. "The rest of us will prepare the camp. Be careful."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Just because you are a prince does not mean you cannot die."

Legolas smiled and disappeared into the trees, leaving Aragorn there to shake his head.

* * *

><p>"I do not like these things. They do not die easily," Varyar said, yanking his glove back on with a grimace. He was aware that his affliction had limits. He knew it did not kill everything in an instant. Still, these new orcs were harder to kill than their predecessors, and that was worrisome.<p>

Nostalion nodded, shaking the blood off the knives Ehtyarion had given him as he prepared to store them again. "We did little against their number. They were not diverted because of us, and we did not kill more than a handful."

"They moved with a purpose."

"Toward the fellowship. That is their prey."

Varyar winced. He looked down at the pile of strange orcs that they had slaughtered and shook his head. This was not enough. Too great a number headed toward those fools in the fellowship. Legolas and his echil were not enough to defend against that force headed for them. He and Nostalion were only alive because the orcs did not care about them. They only wanted the ring.

"These are Uruk-hai. Saruman's army that Mithrandir spoke of at the council."

"And he has set them against your friend," Nostalion agreed. He kicked one of the corpses. "When Ogol wanted to create that army you were to lead—"

"No. Ogol never experimented on his orcs. When he spoke of breeding an army, I always understood that to mean elves. It was why he had my parents meet, why they had the three of us, why he killed her when she refused to let him have me. He was not interested in creating hybrids. His idea of breeding the army was always by natural means."

Nostalion nodded. "The breeding stock he offered you. He still intended to create his army that way, using you to do it."

"Not just me," Varyar said, though he knew it would upset Nostalion to consider the possible fate of the _elleth_ that was now his bride. This was why they had gone to seek Ogol. They had to know that he was not a threat to Thenidriel even if Alassë was not the breeding stock that Ogol would have chosen for Idhrenion. "He would have used natural means. He did not know any other way."

"Someone else did. Someone that was supposedly his prisoner."

Varyar almost vomited. "Draugminaion."

_The silence of the darkness became chastising, a taunt almost from the first day that he had found himself in this torment. He knew that he should not have come, that he should not have trusted, not even himself, and he knew what a fool he was for doing so. Now that he was here, he was well-punished for that mistake._

_He had suffered, and he would have said that he had been tormented enough, but the darkness and his own guilt did not agree with him. He had only the company of that silence, having lost all else here, having betrayed himself and everyone else with his insistence on coming._  
><em>He would not live, but then he did not deserve to live.<em>

_"Is it ready, Master? Can we use it?"_

_"Soon," Draugminaion told the orc. "We must be patient. It is almost time."_

_Varyar grimaced. He almost wanted the silence back. That, or the comfort of death. If he did not need to get back to his family, he would fight harder to get that death. He did not want to be here when they decided he was ready._

"Yes."

"It is unlikely," Varyar forced himself to say it. He did not want to ignore the possibility. That would be foolish. Still, he did not like the idea. "Why would he breed this filth? He had some sick idea of having a beautiful army."

"Beautiful?"

"You do not think I am pretty? I am offended. The _edain_ did," Varyar said. He almost laughed, but he stopped himself. It was not amusing. He let out a breath. "That force is headed to them. They will have no warning, and we cannot give them one."

Nostalion glanced toward the path that the orcs had taken. "They are not far. We can catch them."

"Even if we kill them, he will send more."

"Then we go to the source," Nostalion said, stowing the knives. "Cut it off at the head."

Varyar smiled slightly. "Time to kill another wizard."


	18. Songs and Stories Make the Journeys

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Eighteen<br>Word Count:** 4,040**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I think I will blame this chapter on the headache I've had for about four days now. It started Thursday, went migraine Friday, and has pretended to ease since but refuses to go away. At least that's a semi-plausible reason for this kind of... um, insanity?

When I considered writing more with Legolas, Aragorn, Varyar, and Nostalion, one of my first thoughts was the scene in here that is extended from _The Trees Are Drawing Me Near_. Most of the others were for _Return of the King._ Still, the lead up to this, with the ent... Maybe I should have let it get forgotten with the migraine.

I like that Legolas told Gimli about what happened in _All Creatures Great and Small,_ though.

Once again, the song is from the arwen-undomiel site.

* * *

><p><strong> Songs and Stories Make the Journeys<br>**

"You are not doing the talking."

Nostalion frowned, stopping their walk to turn back and face Varyar. "Are you implying that I cannot? Do I have some kind of impediment?"

"You are a functional mute. You also cannot lie," Varyar said, watching his _gwador's_ reaction with amusement. The assassin was not pleased by either comment, but Varyar knew that he had spoken with the other elf more in these past few months than he had in most of the centuries that they had known each other. Part of that was the journeys they had undertaken, in part because the others had been taken, and in part because Varyar had died.

"Varyar—"

"Whereas _I_ am the storyteller and improvisor._ I_ do the talking. We both know that your idea of negotiating is to kill all who refuse to give you what you want. That is not an option."

"Not yet."

Varyar smiled, inclining his head, acknowledging the truth of the other elf's words. "Save that for when we need to kill everyone and ask questions later. Today we must leave things alive to answer questions and fool wizards."

That got him a grunt. "Wizards are supposed to be impossible to fool."

Varyar snorted. "Did you _meet_ Mithrandir? He was fooled on several occasions. And he liked pipeweed. They are not infallible. Ogol believed me more than once when I said that I would come back and give him my family. I never did. They can be fooled. We will need that."

Nostalion grunted. The two of them did not always agree on methods, but they worked together well, had from their first meeting even if neither of them had liked the other then. "Is that what you think will get us through this forest and to that tower?"

Varyar frowned. He looked up at the trees, uneasy. Legolas was the one who liked trees. He was the one that the trees liked, and he was not with them. This situation was far from ideal. Still, perhaps they could gain safe passage if they told them this errand was, in one sense, _for_ Legolas. "Have you ever spoken to trees?"

Nostalion's expression darkened. "Spoken to trees?"

"You needn't make it sound so repulsive. Your mother was a wood elf, after all. That is what you do. You speak to trees."

"_They_ speak to trees. Not me," Nostalion snapped. "Do you think the trees approve of what _I_ am?"

Varyar would believe they preferred what Nostalion was over what he was. At least Nostalion's ability was not an abomination against nature as Varyar's was. "We all love you the way you are."

Nostalion was not amused. "There are times, Firyavaryar, when I would gladly kill you."

"There are times, Nostalion, when I would gladly let you."

* * *

><p>Another death. Another loss. Another grief. Legolas had had that he would keep to the path of hope, but he did not know how much longer that would be possible. Their relentless pursuit of the orcs and Uruk-hai that had taken Merry and Pippin gave them little time for thought, no time to grieve, and that was, he supposed, a relief.<p>

He was, he thought, almost weary enough in body to ignore how weary he was in spirit.

If they did not find Merry and Pippin, if the hobbits were dead before they did, then what would happen to them? Surely it felt though the quest was already lost, that this break in their fellowship meant that all of Middle Earth was doomed to fall under the rule of Sauron.

Legolas shook his head. He was not usually this prone to despondency. He was not certain where it all came from, but he did not like it. He ended to be able to fight, and despair would rob anyone of their strength. They could not allow that to happen.

"You wouldn't think orcs would be such fast runners," Gimli said, drawing Legolas abruptly out of his dark thoughts and back to where they were. Estel was tracking, searching for what little the rock would tell him, and Legolas would have asked the trees if there were any to ask. Perhaps that was part of it—this area was so desolate as to take away all hope.

"Why not?"

"They used to be elves, didn't they?"

Legolas shook his head, uncertain why the dwarf's words made him laugh. Estel looked up at them with a frown. They had interrupted him, and he needed to be able to concentrate on the signs they were following.

"My apologies, Estel. We did not mean to distract you."

"I would ask you how you could laugh under circumstances, but I know—"

"That you and I have laughed under far worse circumstances?" Legolas asked, getting a frown from the dwarf. "Yes, Gimli, I am certain that these seem among the most dire we have known, with Mithrandir and Boromir dead, Frodo and Sam taking the ring into Mordor on their own, Merry and Pippin in the hands of the Uruk-hai, but I have known darker times, as has Estel. In fact, there was one time that I have never forgotten, one that taught me that I had one true and valiant protector, one that will never abandon me—"

"Not again. Why must you tell everyone about that?"

"You believed that you were safe from me telling the dwarf because elves and dwarves do not get along?" Legolas smiled as the dwarf frowned at him. Estel's expression darkened, and Legolas laughed. "You are fortunate, I suppose, that I did not have time to tell the hobbits."

"The way you are laughing now causes me to doubt that you did not actually tell them," Estel grumbled. "Of all the times to share that tale, you choose now? Now, when we hunt Uruk-hai and are days behind their march?"

Laughter, Legolas thought, was the best way of buoying his spirits—all their spirits—and now was the time for laughter, for remembering their shared past, and this was the best time for it. The only regret he had was that the hobbits were not here to hear it.

"Yes, now."

"Well, then, laddie, out with it. No leaving us in suspense after all that talk," Gimli said, nudging him. Then he frowned. "Unless you have no tale to tell. That would be like an elf, wouldn't it? Building up to such a tale when none exists. All those songs and odes and not one word in them that makes sense. Like that council—"

"He has a story," Estel said, always quick to defend Legolas, even if it hurt him. "He is _not_ telling it now. We have orcs to hunt."

Legolas continued to smile all through the dwarf's grumbling and Estel's objections. "We can talk as we move—"

"Just not sing and walk, that seems impossible."

Legolas almost laughed again, enjoying the dwarf humor. "You see, Gimli, once there was a young ranger and a young elf—the man was younger, as I suppose I had a few centuries on me at the time—and they were riding peacefully through the countryside when they were attacked by orcs—"

"Bah, sensible sorts know better than to ride horses."

"Careful, Gimli. We near Rohan, and they value their horses highly," Estel warned. "It would not be good to insult them."

"Or to mention that the horses were the casualties in the unfortunate circumstances that led to us being in that cave," Legolas agreed. He lowered his head in remembrance of the friend he had lost that day. He had been fond of that horse.

"Horses died. And an elf went in a cave?" Gimli shook his head. "You expect me to believe that nonsense?"

Legolas started forward, letting Estel take the lead as he used what the rock had told him to get them closer to Merry and Pippin. "Now, in Estel's defense, not only was it dark but the orcs were still hunting us..."

* * *

><p>"You look ridiculous."<p>

"Must you choose _now_ to be verbose? I have never been good at this, and it takes some skill to have a meaningful conversation," Varyar grumbled. He could not concentrate on what the trees were saying when Nostalion was talking. He could barely do this when he was alone, for all that he teased Legolas about it.

He leaned against the tree and sighed. This forest was old. Very old. He did not like the way he felt in this place.

"Orcs," something hissed, and Varyar looked toward Nostalion just before he was lifted up into the air. He struggled as the wood creaked. He bit back a curse in the dark tongue. He did not need to give the ent more reason to believe that he was an orc.

The_ ent. _

Varyar had almost believed these creatures were only myths. Now, though, one had him in its wooden grip, and he felt as though his back would break.

"It does not seem that the tree liked what you said."

"I am so glad you are enjoying my misery," Varyar said, trying to push himself up out of the ent's grasp. "You _could_ help."

"You were the one that wanted to talk to the trees," Nostalion reminded him, apparently content to let Varyar be killed by the overgrown tree.

"Yes, well, it would seem that trying to be polite and respectful and negotiate safe passage was the wrong choice. Though if this is what being polite earns, I would hate to see what would have happened if we had simply trespassed through this forest."

"An orc wants to negotiate passage through my forest?" The ent asked, stopping his attempt to crush Varyar. "Why?"

"I am not an orc. I might feel like one because I carry a poison within me, a disease, but I am an elf." Varyar saw the suspicion in the ent's eyes. "I know the hair does not look like an elf's, but the ears _are_ pointed, and I _am_ speaking Sindarin."

The ent studied him. "You are a strange sort of elf."

Nostalion laughed. Varyar glared at him, though he knew that the ent's words were true. He was different from all other elves, and he had been since birth, since he was an Avari bred to serve a twisted sorcerer. Still, that did not mean that he needed to be crushed by a giant tree.

"I am," Varyar said. "Now that I have admitted that, perhaps you could put me down?"

"How is it that you come to be in my forest, strange elf? Why did you wake me?"

"Waking you was an accident. My connection to nature is poor, and I did not know that you were an ent," Varyar explained with a grimace. The ent glared at him, but at least this time he was not almost crushed by it. "I suppose you could call me _gildin,_ as Mithrandir did. It is fitting, since I woke you, and preferable to being called 'strange elf.'"

"You are friend to Mithrandir?"

"Not exactly," Varyar did not think the ent would be pleased to know his current feelings regarding the wizard. "Though for a time, he was my tutor."

"You have much to tell me, _Gildin_. I fear I have slept for a very long time."

Varyar frowned. "You are not going to put me down, are you?"

* * *

><p>"Rohan," Idhrenion grumbled, shaking his head as he adjusted his daughter in his arms. "Rohan means <em>edain.<em> Why did we agree to this?"

"Because Varyar and Nostalion will need us," Sérëdhiel answered, knowing that only her brother would argue with her after the arrangements she had made to get them out of Imladris under the watchful eyes of Lord Elrond, his sons, and Ehtyarion. Everyone else respected her or feared her enough not to bother. She was the healer, yes, but she was also the diplomat, a far more dangerous position than most people realized.

"I do not know that we should have left," Eruaistaniel said, twisting her cloak in her fingers. "As much as I was very uncomfortable when Lord Elrond's sons were showing me so much attention, if what Varyar fears is true about Ogol and Saruman, we go toward the one they fear."

"Rohan is not Isengard," Sérëdhiel told her, touching her friend's arm. She believed that they would survive whatever they might encounter on their way to the lands of the horsemen, and she knew that most of them were capable of defending themselves if it was necessary. She doubted it would be. They were not targets. Not ringbearers or touched by the shadow. "We will be close enough without being in immediate danger."

"I doubt we could return anyway, not with whatever Sérëdhiel did to make our... escape unnoticed," Alassë said, reaching to take Thenidriel from her husband.

Eruaistaniel frowned. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Sérëdhiel said. She was aware of the skeptical looks directed toward her. "Do yon think that I could do anything to Lord Elrond? I am not that talented or powerful. I am not Varyar. I could not harm anyone with only a touch. I am not an assassin, either. I am—"

"A healer," Idhrenion said, laughing. "You drugged them."

"Only a little. I had to give some to Ehtyarion and Beridhren, as they were with us, and I suppose the twins since they would track us..."

"And the way they teased you—and me—when we were younger was not at all a part of that decision?"

She smiled. "I can think of better revenge."

"And execute it and let Varyar take the blame for it."

She lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Is it my fault if Varyar is willing to do what I ask even if he knows he should not? I never asked him to accept the blame."

"Even I know he would do that without being asked," Alassë muttered. She cradled her daughter in her arms, frowning. "I know that we could not stay in Imladris, and I do not doubt that my cousin and your brother will find trouble, but I do not want to find it ourselves, not when my child is unable to defend herself."

"If we need to fight, she will be protected," Sérëdhiel assured her sister. A part of her still believed that lifting up her niece was all they needed. Everyone would bow to the adorable and let them pass, as foolish as such a thought was.

"We did train beside a prince and his guard captain, and later we learned more with your family. We will be able to defend her," Idhrenion said, touching her cheek with tenderness. They were a beautiful couple, very much in love, despite everything, and usually that made Sérëdhiel smile.

Her stomach twisted, and she almost vomited. Frowning, she leaned against the nearest tree.

"Sérëdhiel?" Idhrenion asked, coming over to her. "You are unwell? You look pale, and I have never seen—did you take some of your own herbs?"

"She would have been affected before now," Alassë said, getting a nod from Eruaistaniel.

Sérëdhiel shook her head. "It is nothing. It has passed. We can continue."

"I have heard of... certain pairs that sense things from each other when they are apart. Could that have come from Nostalion?" Eruaistaniel asked, and then she shook her head. "I am sorry. That is foolish. I do not remember who told me that, and I have never asked before, but if I had, then you would have told me before that it was not—"

"I do not think it is so foolish, but I do not know that I have ever gotten anything like that before," Sérëdhiel told her. "Most of what I sense is just a conviction that he is still alive."

"I had the same when Idhrenion was taken, but it was stronger. I swore it helped me stay close to Varyar and Nostalion until they freed him. It has not been like that since. Perhaps it was the circumstances. Perhaps it was that I carried Thenidriel then," Alassë said. She looked at Sérëdhiel and smiled, laughing loud enough to disturb the baby. "I do not think that sense that he is still alive is all you got from Nostalion."

Sérëdhiel cursed.

* * *

><p>"Do not look at me like that. Getting caught by a tree was not something that could be predicted. It should not have happened," Varyar muttered, trying again to rid himself of the leaves he had acquired in his time speaking to the ent.<p>

"Are you displeased with the new friend that you have made?" Nostalion asked, and then he smiled. The assassin's smiles were not kind. "I would have thought you would be proud of it. Is this not something that makes you happy?"

"Happy? That word should not be coming out of your month. You do not know what happy is."

The assassin grunted. "Do you believe that your sister is unhappy?"

"I hate you. There are things no brother wants to know about his sister, and that is the foremost of all of them," Varyar grumbled. He put a hand to his head, shaking it. He did not want those details, not now, not ever. "Have I not been humiliated enough already?"

"You will offend your friend if you keep talking like that."

"My friend, as you seem determined to call him, is asleep again," Firyavaryar said, refusing to look back and see if that was still true. "I must be grateful, having awoken one of the only tone deaf ents in existence, or else we might still be in its clutches since you refused to sing."

Nostalion looked at him. "My voice is worse than yours."

"Such a thing is not possible," Varyar said with a grimace. He did not want to remember this day. He wanted to forget it as he had lost so many other things.

"_You are ill,_ gildin," _the ent said, and Varyar nodded, uncertain if he had only closed his eyes or gone into another fugue to alert the tree to this, but be could not deny it. He was sick. "You must rest, strange elf."_

"_Perhaps you _both_ could," Nostalion suggested, and Firyavaryar glared at him. Was the assassin trying to get him dropped on his head? _

"_I could not sleep now. There is much that you should tell me. Though first, I would hear a song. It has been too long since heard the songs of the elves. Please sing for me."_

_Varyar choked. He had long denied having the ability to sing, and he was not being modest. He could not sing. "Nostalion..."_

"_No. I will kill you, and I will kill for you, but I will not sing for you."_

"_Sing, strange elf," the ent said, cradling Varyar against him like a gwinig. He was almost certain that the assassin was down there laughing. He sighed._

"Ai, laurië lantar lassi súrinen, yéni únotimë ve ramar aldaron, yéni ve lintë… Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinomë maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta,"_ Firyavaryar stumbled on the words, unable to remember them all. It did not seem to matter. The tree closed its eyes, and Varyar kept singing, making up words to the barely recognizable tune._

"Firyavaryar?"

"That was not a fugue. Merely... unpleasantness, remembered from earlier. I cannot forget the appalling sound of my own voice."

Nostalion frowned at him. "That is what upsets you?"

"Oh, I could pull from other places, from such terrible memories as we shared or the ones I knew before I met you, but I would rather not. It is difficult enough when I must struggle to stay with what is present and real. I do not need to go looking for more to take me from my tasks."

"We do have a wizard to kill."

"Yes. We do."

"Though if he heard your singing, perhaps we would not have to kill him. He would just die from the horror of the sound."

"You are not amusing."

"And yet you still call me _gwador."_

Varyar laughed. "Yes, well, in addition to being a poor singer, I am insane, so..."

"So let's go kill a wizard."

* * *

><p>Aragorn refused to accept that the hobbits were dead. He tracked them through the battle and into the forest, knowing that their friends had survived, and he would not stop hunting them, not when he knew they lived. Legolas and Gimli that been willing to accept that the hobbits were gone when the Rohirrim told them they were dead, but Aragorn could not do that. He would not lose another on this quest. Not now. He would search all of Fangorm if he had to, but the would find them.<p>

Legolas, though, his eyes roved the forest as though he searched for something else here, and Aragorn thought that this place held more secrets than they could ever know, ancient as it was. He understood the elf's fascination with the area. He could feel something here, something that his people would revere, though not as much as an elf. They had a greater understanding of the land, gained over many centuries, that even the Dúnedain could not possess, as much as they lived close to it.

Were their circumstances different, Aragorn would have suggested that they stay, that Legolas take the time to explore everything as he so clearly wanted to do, but they could not stay. Merry and Pippin needed them. They had to find the hobbits.

Aragorn was not the only one who noticed the elf's distraction. He would have been more likely to miss it, hunting for sign as he was, but he was still watching over the elf, worried that his hope was not enough to keep grief from overwhelming him, not with the hobbits missing. It was a relief to know that Gimli was also watching.

"Look at him," the dwarf groused, looking on the elf with disgust. "He'd spend all day in those trees if he were able, and us with hobbits to hunt and wizards to fight."

The ranger smiled, shaking his head, though he knew that it was fatigue that caused this latest bout of grumbling, not a lack of affection. He had seen how close the elf and dwarf had become, and he knew that they would fight and die for each other. That was the loyalty this fellowship had created—but also it was the way Legolas saw all his friends, even the ones that did not deserve it.

"The trees are talking to each other," Legolas said, his voice full of awe as he looked around the trees, caught up in the language of the trees, a look of longing in his face. He would stay here and listen all day, as Gimli claimed, but Aragorn knew that alongside Legolas' sense of wonder was also a sense of duty and purpose, one that would not allow them to abandon Merry and Pippin to their fate.

"Bah. What do trees have to talk about besides the consistency of squirrel droppings?"

Aragorn frowned over at the dwarf, shaking his head. He could not communicate with the trees himself, but he respected them. He owed his life to the warnings the trees had given his companions, and he would not be here if not for them.

"Legolas?"

"A spark of hope has returned to me," the elf answered. "One I thought lost."

"Hope? Here? In this tree-infested forest?"

Aragorn gave Gimli a warning look, but he did not know that Legolas had even heard him, as lost in the speech of the trees as he was.

"A _gildin."_

That had a particular significance to the elf, but Aragorn was not certain he remembered what it was—or if Legolas had ever told him. Perhaps that was about the tale he'd meant to tell Aragorn years ago involving teaching some other elfling to talk to trees. No, wait, Mithrandir had used the term as well, but Aragorn could not remember how.

He started to ask, but Legolas tensed, distracted once again.

"Aragorn, _nad no ennas!"_

"_Man cenich?"_

The elf darted forward. "The white wizard approaches."

And all thought of conversations with trees were forgotten.


	19. Contemplation before Combat

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Nineteen<br>Word Count:** 4,427**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I had thought I had good ideas for this part of the story, but between them being vague and my poor execution of them, it was much harder to do this than I'd hoped. I was hoping to resolve all of _The Two Towers_ by the end of this chapter, but it did not work that way.

Should only need one more, though. Things will be that much closer to a resolution, and that is good for everyone.

I have to apologize for the many typos in the last chapter. The new tablet sneaks word changes in on me, I swear.

* * *

><p><strong>Contemplation before Combat<strong>

"You seem weary again, _mellon-n__ín,"_ Estel said, and Legolas forced a smile. He did not want to admit to fatigue, though he knew that they all suffered from it. Their hunt for the hobbits had been long and tiring. They had not stopped for rest or food, and now they had started another march, one to the fortress of Helm's Deep.

"You should be wearier than I am," Legolas told him, "being only a man."

"I am no mere man," Estel objected. The words were true—the ranger was far from ordinary, and not only because the blood of kings flowed through his veins. Legolas knew of no other man like him. He was a true friend, one that could be called _gwador. _He had nobility in him, not just in blood but in character and nature.

"That is true, but you are still not an elf, and you must be wearier than I."

"The orcs may assume that a man is weaker than anyone else in the party when elves are present, but you know that is not the case. I am not of the firstborn, but I can fight almost as well as one—some might say I can do better."

Legolas nodded. "Well you fight as you always have. I know this. I have trained with you and fought beside you. I do not doubt your prowess."

"Only my stamina?"

"Perhaps it is your attention that concerns me. It would seem that someone seeks to have it," Legolas said, and Estel frowned slightly. Could it be that the ranger had not noticed the affection that he seemed to have gained? He was hope in a dark time, and when one appeared as hope, one risked becoming more than that to all who knew him.

"What do you mean?"

"I think you have gained an admirer, and I do not mean Gimli."

Estel grimaced. "I do not think that we should discuss this. It is not appropriate."

Legolas did not much care for their original topic, but he did not want to embarrass the lady by speaking of her growing and unreciprocated affections. "You should put a stop to it. You know that. If your heart belongs to Arwen, as you believe it does, then you do her no kindness by allowing this to continue."

"She smiles at Gimli, too. You assume too much."

Legolas did not believe he did. He might know little of love himself, but he was still aware of it when he saw it, and he had seen many cases of it over many centuries. Estel could pretend ignorance of her emotions—that was the simpler course for him, but not for her. Were she like Eruaistaniel, she could suffer greatly for a love that was never to be, and Legolas wished that on no one.

"You have done well to try and divert me from the subject, but I would speak to you about your condition. I am not ignorant of the ways of elves, Legolas. I know how it is for you in grief, and you have had so much of it lately—I cannot help my concern."

"I have had my spirits buoyed as well. Gimli and I have traded insults, but we also challenge each other in ways that we both need," Legolas said. He needed the dwarf's companionship, more than he would ever have thought possible. They were not friends the same way that he was with Estel, but he did not need the same friendship, no under these circumstances.

"Yet you seem lower in spirits again, despite what you said in the forest of Fangorn, despite Mithrandir's return and our rescue of Rohan's king from Saruman's treachery."

Legolas let out a breath. "I fear I have been foolish. I know that I should be happy—pleased, even—that we were reunited with Mithrandir, if only for a short while, but I confess... When the trees told me that a _gildin _had passed through, when I added that to Galadriel's words, I assumed that the _gildin _was something else. _Someone_ else."

Estel rubbed at his forehead, more tired than he would admit. "Someone else? Was not _gildin _the name that Mithrandir used?"

"Yes, it was, but not for himself," Legolas told him. He should not say this—he might anger Estel all over again when they could not be permitted such division—but he did not wish to lie. _"Gildin _is Mithrandir's name for Varyar. He gave it to him when we were both elflings."

Estel grimaced. "You thought the trees were telling you that Firyavaryar was alive."

"Yes."

"And the pain is fresh again?"

"Yes."

"I am truly sorry. Were it possible to take away that pain, you know that I would gladly do so," Estel told him, putting a hand on Legolas' arm. "I would bring him back for you were that possible. I swear it."

"I know. You are a true friend."

* * *

><p>"Orthanc."<p>

Firyavaryar thought the assassin might use the word for a curse from now on, and he was not certain that he could disagree. This was far from what he had expected, but then he had spent most of that council in and out of fugues and did not remember much of what Mithrandir had said during his discussion of Isengard.

"We will not get close to the tower, not with that army between us and it."

Varyar nodded. "That is true, but we are not the focus of that army. It does not march toward us."

Nostalion grunted. "That does not mean that it will not mean death for any that it marches toward. In such a number, they will slaughter any they come across. The _edain _of Rohan... They will die."

Varyar studied the army, losing count of the rows and rows of Uruk-hai that stretched before them. He had seen legions of orcs before, and he had fought some, but never in so great a number. He had never seen such a force, not in his time with Ogol or with Draugminaion.

"You could poison the ground. It might make them all fall with it. Those caverns beneath the tower would help it collapse, and much as Ogol's forces were defeated, this army would meet its end."

"Yes," Varyar agreed, for he had been close to the possibility of that act, but he did not know. "I would have to be able to get in near them to do it, and while I know I carry the shadow within me, I do not know that it is enough to fool them into thinking that I am not an elf, not the enemy."

Nostalion nodded. "It would be difficult, and they could overwhelm you before you were close enough to do what was necessary. Even if I were to distract them, it would not be enough."

Firyavaryar looked at his _gwador. _For all that he trusted in the assassin's skill, he knew that the only thing Nostalion would accomplish as a distraction was his own death. "I do not think that any of it will work. We cannot take on that force alone. This fight... It is not ours."

Nostalion turned toward him. "You would make it ours if you could find the means to do so."

"I? What do I care for the concerns of the _edain? _They are not mine. Every time we mix with _edain _has become a disaster. No, let them fall. I know nothing of the men of Rohan, nor do I care to know of them. I am not a hero. I am not Legolas. I have no interest in befriending them."

"They will march for Helm's Deep."

"The last fortress of men. Yes. That is to be expected," Varyar agreed. He could see the reasoning behind sending a force there, but even in so great a number, would the wizard's plan succeed? "They cannot hope to breach the wall through brute force alone. Even this army will fall if pounded against the same stone long enough. If that is the plan, if that is where he intends to send them, then he must plan for more than that."

"If this were Ogol, what would he do?"

"Ogol would not attack like this. Ogol worked from the shadows, in deception and trickery, hiding what he was. He would..." Varyar closed his eyes and cursed, shaking his head and refusing to accept that thought. It was not possible. He would not believe that was happening. Not now.

"What? Varyar, what would he do?"

"He would disguise himself as one of them, as an old man, perhaps, and he would be with them, hidden so that he could work from inside. He would destroy them even as they worked to save themselves. That is the kind of treachery that he employs."

Nostalion studied him. "Is that what you believe that Ogol has done?"

"Ogol is dead. He has to be dead. None of this is worth it if he did not die," Varyar said, his eyes going dark as he spoke. He did not know if Ogol could have infiltrated the Rohirrim, but he did not want to believe it. If that sorcerer were with them, they would not survive.

"Do we go for Saruman or do we go for his army?"

"We made this choice before."

"And last time we chose the wizard, but the decision from before does not necessarily stand. We need to know if this is the same sorcerer as the one that tortured you—and if he would do as you say, if he has found a way to disguise himself among them—or we can stop part of that force."

Firyavaryar looked up at the tower, frowning as he did. He did not know, even with the force marching away, if they could get close enough for him to see Saruman's face and know that he was not Ogol. He would need to be face-to-face with the wizard, and that was almost certain to end in their deaths even if Saruman was not Ogol.

"Our chance of survival is poor regardless of our choice."

Nostalion shook his head. "We can turn around at any time. We can look away from this and let them handle their own fate. This is not our fight. It never was. You are the one seeking a redemption that you do not believe you can ever have, but if you cannot have it, why look for it here?"

That, Varyar feared, he could not answer.

* * *

><p>"This is Edoras? This is the great hall of the Rohan king?"<p>

"It looks rather like a tavern to me," Alassë said, shaking her head in disgust as she shifted Thenidriel in her arms and looked around at the empty hall. She frowned. "Where is everyone? Even for the _edain, _this is strange."

"In times of trouble, the people of Rohan go to Helm's Deep," Sérëdhiel told them, pushing back her cloak and looking around. She did not want to be here, and their journey through the empty village surrounding the king's hall was unsettling—that was the _only _reason her stomach was upset, even if she would normally have argued that she did not panic in such a way. She was not pregnant, and she refused to accept that as a possibility no matter what Alassë said. That was a fear that she did not need, not in these dark and uncertain times.

"I suppose that is better," Eruaistaniel said. This way we do not have to worry about the _edain_ while we are here, and we can hope that they did survive."

"Can you truly want them to be alive?" Alassë asked. "After what they did to Turvuin, what they did to Nostalion and Firyavaryar, what they would have done to me, what they did to you—"

"I cannot condemn them all for what a few did, even if I still find myself fearing all of them," Eruaistaniel answered. She lowered her head. "This place unsettles me. I do not know that we should remain here, even if we do expect Varyar and Nostalion to come."

"We are staying for at least one night," Idhrenion said. "We are all tired, and I do not want to drag my daughter anywhere else. I am—I would like to be able to give her a true home. She deserves one."

"We all do, little brother," Sérëdhiel told him. She did not believe that they had ever deserved this nomadic fate. They should have been able to have a home, to be left in peace. They should not have had to fear Ogol or Meligur. They would not know distrust and fear of the edain. Varyar would not suffer as a walking plague nor her Nostalion be forced to track in an unnatural way.

"We should find a place to rest, then."

"If they left in a hurry, there may be some food here that will spoil," Sérëdhiel said. "It would be better for us to use it rather than let it go to waste."

"I will go look," Eruaistaniel offered, and Sérëdhiel smiled at her. She was glad to see her friend improving despite their circumstances. Eruaistaniel's broken spirit did seem to be mending. Perhaps the attention of the twins had done more to aid her than anyone would have expected. She did not know if it was that or just the passage of time, but she was glad of it nevertheless.

"Come with me," Idhrenion told Alassë, taking hold of her arm. She gave him a look, but he smiled, guiding her and the baby toward another room, leaving Sérëdhiel alone in the main hall.

She sat down on the nearest bench, closing her eyes._ Nostalion, you are late, and if you do not come soon and l am pregnant, I will kill you myself, even if I have to drag you back from Mandos' halls to do it. You do not get to leave one now._

She shook her head. How had it come to this? She hadn't liked or trusted Nostalion when she first met him.

"_Sérëdhiel."_

_She lifted her head, staring up at her brother's face. She almost did not know him, so altered was his appearance, but that was his voice and his face. She did not know what happened to his eyes—she could guess his hair had been shorn like that to humiliate him, but his eyes... "Varyar. You are alive. We almost started to believe that you were gone."_

"_I almost was," he said, and she ran over to embrace him, but he stepped away from her. "You cannot touch me. I... My skin is poison."_

"_You are fully clothed," she said, almost not caring what happened to her as long as she could hold her brother again. She wrapped her arms around him and clung to him. We missed you. Needed you. Love you."_

"_You could have died."_

"_We were dying every day while you were gone in so many small ways. This was no safe haven."_

_Varyar shook his head. "I swear, Nostalion, if you go back to serving Meligur, I will kill you myself."_

_She looked up, meeting the intense stare of a dark-haired elf with a scar marring his face. She shuddered, drawing closer to her brother, wanting to feel safe again._

She almost wished she had her husband's unpleasant gift, wished she could know where he and Varyar were. She needed to know they were coming back alive, but she had no such guarantee.

* * *

><p>"You are quiet, even for an elf princeling."<p>

Legolas lifted his head, looking up at the dwarf. He had not wanted to take away from the preparations for battle, but he did not know that he could have gone into the fight without a few moments for himself. He needed time to think, time to put away the memories and emotions that wanted to distract him from what was ahead. It was difficult, he thought, to separate from the past, perhaps more so for an elf, who lived so long that some past centuries were like yesterday.

"Everyone prepares for battle in a different way. I have chosen silence."

"Silence? You are a daft elf, that's for sure. You're thousands of years old, aren't you? You know more of battle than any of this lot, and yet you say nothing." Gimli looked like he might shove him. "You are a fool."

"My experience of the battlefield is less than any of theirs," Legolas disagreed. "Yes, I have spent most of my life patrolling my father's borders, I have fought many orcs, survived many ambushes, but this is not the same. This is the defense of a keep. It is not my place to advise anyone in such a battle."

The dwarf frowned at him, leaning over to examine Legolas' ear. "Are you certain you're an elf?"

"Yes," Legolas answered, swatting the dwarf's hand away from the sensitive tip of his ear. "And you were a moment ago."

Gimli grunted. "Never known an elf not to give plenty of advice—never known one to be humble, either."

"I have never known a dwarf who was humble, either, and that has not changed," Legolas said, grinning as the dwarf frowned. He laughed, and after a moment of fighting a smile, Gimli joined him.

"Annoying elf."

"Special dwarf."

"Special?"

Legolas nodded, though the memory that prompted his words was bittersweet.

"_So... you _are _my friend? You just weren't willing to say you are because you're possibly Avari?" Legolas asked, though he thought he already had that answer. He didn't need it anymore. He shook his head. "It does not matter if you are Avari. What matters is that you have been a friend to me ever since you pretended to kill that orc."_

"_Pretended? What, you think that was some kind of ruse to gain your trust?"_

"_No," Legolas insisted immediately. "I don't. I would never think that. I was just teasing you. That's all. Don't you know when I'm teasing you yet? Or... Has someone else accused you of doing that? They truly believe you tricked me into being your friend?"_

"_I've heard a few rumors, yes."_

"_Well, they're wrong. I don't like just everyone that helps me fight orcs. You are different. No one tricks me into being friends, either. I'll be friends with anyone I _want _to be friends with, not who I'm told to be friends with."_

"_Be careful. Keep talking like that, and you'll end up friends with a dwarf next."_

_Legolas laughed. "I don't think _that _will happen. It would have to be a very special dwarf."_

"_I am no special elf."_

"_I don't need a special elf. I need a friend."_

"_Then you have one." Varyar shook his head. "No, you have _three."

"_Three?"_

"_Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and me."_

Varyar had promised friendship that day—he had given it, that was not the problem, but Ogol and fear had chased him away, forcing him to fulfill that promise by staying away rather than remaining close like Legolas had wanted. Still, he had been a child who wanted nothing more than that friend, and Varyar's assurance that he had three had felt like a perfect dream.

"Someone told me that with the way I chose my companions, I would end up friends with a dwarf next. I said it would take a special dwarf. Therefore you must be a _very_ special dwarf, Gimli, son of Glóin."

"And what is wrong with your choice of companions?" Gimli demanded, though he seemed pleased to be considered special, perhaps even to be Legolas' friend.

"Well, the one who said it was an Avari." Legolas did not think the dwarf understood the term. It was not something the elves were proud of, not something they shared with others, and certainly not dwarves. "His grandparents—or perhaps great-grandparents—did not accept the offer of the Valar. They rejected the journey. Some Avari served Melkor—Morgoth—and the dark lord Sauron. Many assume that all Avari serve the shadow."

"Not you. Not a silly elf who mourns the one that betrayed him."

Legolas grimaced. That hurt more than Gimli could know. "Firyavaryar might have been Avari. He might have betrayed me. He was still my friend."

"I don't think I'd trust your choice of friends."

"Even when I call you one of them?"

Gimli huffed. He shook his head. "Only a fool would try and understand the workings of your mind, laddie. I suppose next I will find you telling me you're not helping with the preparations because you're down here mourning him."

"Mithrandir called him _gildin,"_ Legolas said. He sighed. "My small spark of hope was not for Mithrandir. It was for Varyar. And no matter how foolish I was for that, I was not being foolish in trying to make peace with those feelings before the battle."

Gimli let out a breath, nodding in thought. "Aye. Best to settle those matters before a fight."

Legolas smiled, but before he could thank the dwarf for his understanding, Gimli spoke again. "Especially if you expect to beat my count."

* * *

><p>"Last time you chose the wizard."<p>

"I did. The argument there was that if we did not go for the wizard, he would just send another army," Varyar said. His eyes returned to the horde in front of them. He could not count their number, but he knew it was thousands, and if Saruman sent them, then he expected to be able to breach the fortress somehow. Rohan might have an army that could repel them, one that could hold the keep, but it might not be enough. Saruman had a plan. If he was Ogol, then he was preparing that betrayal from within. If not, then something these Uruk-hai now carried was to give them entry.

"He would not have to, not when that army already marches toward them."

"Agreed. No need for further armies exists when one legion is expected to kill them all."

"You also said that Ogol would be among them. Your answer would lie there, perhaps easier to find than it would be to broach the tower," Nostalion told him, looking back at Orthanc.

"Assuming that we could get past that army and convince them to let us into Helm's Deep, which is an assumption that we should not make. Avari are seldom welcome, especially among the _edain."_

"Your friend is there. You would gain passage."

Firyavaryar frowned. He blinked a few times, thinking that he must have misheard the tracker. "You do not have a map. You do not know where people are on a map, so you cannot say that Legolas is in Helm's Deep—"

"No, I cannot, but I can see where they march—you guessed it yourself—and I know where Legolas is. They march toward him."

Varyar glared at him. "That is what you meant when you said that I would make it my fight."

"Yes."

Varyar shook his head. He did not want this fight—he had not wanted _any _of them—but he knew that he would take it. He had little choice, not if he wanted to redeem himself, and he liked it little, but he knew what must be done. "We have to find a way of reducing that number."

"You could ask your new friend."

"The ent? Are you insane?" Varyar demanded. He shook his head. "No, do not answer that. I know you are, but I do not think that the ents will fight with us. Even if I could find the one I woke earlier and get him to do something besides make me sing, the rest of them might not agree. It would take too long to find and convince even the one. We must act quickly—and find a way that does not get us slaughtered in the process."

"Do you care if you live?"

"Not particularly, but I do care about leaving my family unprotected. We are not both allowed to die. You know this. If I die, you have to go back to my sister and lead them on."

"She would not forgive me for allowing you to die."

"Yes, she would. Eventually. You have as much of her heart as I do," Varyar insisted. He knew that much. His sister would never have married anyone she did not love, and she was devoted to those she loved, all of them. She had more room in her heart than others, able to share her affection with more than her family—Firyavaryar had only one person outside of the family he cared for, Legolas, and arguably, he was as much _gwador _as Nostalion, even if he did not marry Varyar's sister.

"Even so, I have no interest in letting you die. What is your plan?"

"Why do I do all the planning? I thought you were a masterful assassin, one that could get in to any target, escape unnoticed, and be on the next target before the body was found," Varyar said, narrowing his gaze at Nostalion with suspicion. "When did I become the leader? The one who makes all the decisions?"

"When you saved my life."

"You saved mine as well. We are equal."

"We are not equal," Nostalion said, and Varyar frowned, not wanting to let his _gwador _go on thinking that way, but knowing that they could not argue now. The army marched on, and they had to act now to stop it, now or not at all.

"We might be able to draw some of them into the trees," Firyavaryar began, looking toward the forest. He knew that if nothing else, they could keep the Uruk-hai occupied chasing them around through the trees. Or they could arrange an ambush. That might be possible.

"Very well," Nostalion agreed, removing his bow from his back. Firyavaryar watched him prepare the arrow, considering again what he could do to the tip. If he did, perhaps that would be what they needed.

Or he could kill his _gwador._

"Do it," Nostalion ordered, and Varyar removed his glove, scraping his finger over the point, ducking down to allow him to take the shot. The arrow flew forward, lodging itself in the neck of an Uruk, causing it to fall forward onto its companions. Cries went through them, and Varyar was pleased to see that the ones the Uruk touched did not rise. It would seem that it worked.

Perhaps too well.

"We have their attention. Run."


	20. Spoiling the Spoils

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty<br>Word Count:** 3,017**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I said back on chapter thirteen that this story had flaws, and unfortunately, it seems to be gaining more as it goes along. It was difficult to get this chapter put together, and in the end, the best ending left for the chapter cut out what I might have done for Aragorn, meaning it is, once again, more about Varyar. That really doesn't seem like a good thing.

And I should add in this... warning. The chapter is heavily influenced by the movie. I liked the idea of only a small group of them going to Orthanc, which led to Sérëdhiel's scene and let Éowyn make an appearance, too. That, and I have never liked the war of the Shire or Saruman getting away with what he did at Helm's Deep, so I went with the movie version where he died at the tower. It's better that I did not attempt the war. I would not have been kind to anyone there.

* * *

><p><strong> Spoiling the Spoils<strong>

"Strange elf."

Varyar groaned as the ent picked him up again, lifting him up away from the Uruks that had chased him into the forest. The ent would call this safety, but he could have killed them. He _wanted_ to kill them. It was not enough to draw them from their march. Eventually they would have returned to their original target, and if those at Helm's Deep survived the night, they would be forced to fight again.

"Let me go," Firyavaryar ordered, pushing at the gnarled bark of a hand wrapped around him. "I don't have time to sing now. I need to kill those Uruks."

"The forest will take them," the ent said. He stopped, looking down at his feet as though he had stepped on something. At least the blood was black. It must have been an orc. "Where is your companion, _Gildin?"_

"I do not know," Varyar answered, hoping the assassin was far from the absent-minded crazy _Onod._ "We were separated. I thought you were sleeping."

"The Entmoot has been called."

Varyar suddenly understood that the ent intended to carry him off to that Entmoot, and that could _not_ happen. He remembered little of what he'd been told of the _Onodrim—_his mind had only just recovered the Sindarian name for Ents_—_but he did know that they would be going away from where he wanted to be. The Uruk-hai were headed for Legolas, and if Varyar did not go after them, he needed to get to Orthanc. He had to know if Saruman was Ogol. "I cannot go with you, tree, as I have many orcs yet to kill and my _gwador_ to find. Let me down. Now."

"Lathonlass."

Firyavaryar frowned. That did not seem to make sense. Why would he use those words? Was Varyar remembering the language wrong? He did have many gaps in his memory, and that included the language he had been raised with. "What?"

"I am not a tree. Lathonlass is my name, for I would neglect my duties and pretend to be one of my flock to listen to all the elves. I loved their songs." The _Onod_ frowned. "The elves stopped coming, you know."

"That does not mean that you get to keep me," Firyavaryar told him, squirming in the _Onod's_ grip. He would not be dragged off to any Entmoot. Where was Nostalion? His _gwador_ was not dead. Varyar was not a tracker, but he still believed that Nostalion was alive and doing what he was trained to do: kill. Few Uruks lived, and Nostalion must be dealing with the rest.

"I will help you find your brother."

Firyavaryar could use that. He only needed to get Lothanlass to let him down to search, and then he could escape. "No Entmoot?"

"You sang to me. I will help you."

Firyavaryar cursed. He did not want the _Onod's_ help. He wanted his freedom. He needed to find Nostalion and a way close to Saruman. He twisted in the tree's grasp, trying to accept that he would not get free. "Will you take us to the wizard?"

"To Saruman?"

"Yes."

"Why do you seek the wizard?" Lothanlass asked. The tree's eyes looked to the distance, and Firyavaryar would guess that was where the Entmoot was. "They will go to war with him soon."

"The _Onodrim_ are going to war with Saruman?"

"That is what the Entmoot will decide."

"I may kill the wizard," Varyar admitted. He had not been certain that he should tell the tree this before, but he decided to risk being crushed now. "In which case, no war would be necessary."

"I will help you kill the wizard," the tree said, and Firyavaryar started to smile. He figured that the ent would be a powerful ally, given how badly he had almost been injured by Lothanlass. "But you must sing."

Varyar cursed.

* * *

><p>"What is this?"<p>

Sérëdhiel lifted her head, facing the _edain_ woman who had challenged her. She had an air of authority, somehow the leader of the bedraggled mass that was reentering the land, despite the men behind her. A shield-maiden, then. Sérëdhiel knew little of _edain_ culture, but Varyar had told her many times that she was as much a shield-maiden as she was a healer, as was Alassë, though her sister was not a healer.

"Looters," Sérëdhiel answered, kicking the nearest corpse with her foot. "I assume they intended to take advantage of the fact that your people had gone to the refuge of Helm's Deep."

"They are dead."

"Asking them to stop was not enough," Sérëdhiel said, though she would have preferred that it was. She did not enjoy battle, and she liked even less that she and her family had blood on their hands. She had never wanted that, Varyar had sacrificed much to prevent it, and Eruaistaniel's healing had suffered again because of it.

"Though we are, I assume, in your debt, I do not know who I am thanking or why."

"You may thank Legolas," Sérëdhiel told her, not wanting to say more. She had not wanted to be here when the _edain_ returned, but the raiders had prevented their departure, trapping them in Edoras until the last man was dead.

"You are friends of the elf?"

"No, we just cut our ears to _look_ like elves," Idhrenion grumbled. He dropped another body onto the pile. "I had forgotten how much this stinks. I thought orcs were bad, but these _edain_ are somehow worse."

"Your imagination," Sérëdhiel told him. They were all accustomed to the way Varyar disposed of bodies. His poison corrupted the body, but at such a speed where they did not smell of rot for long, leaving nothing behind. "All the dead smell the same."

"Legolas did not say he was sending friends here."

"That is because he did not send us, nor does he know that we are here," Sérëdhiel said. She looked to her brother, silently urging him to gather his wife and child so that they could leave now. Let the _edain_ clean this mess. This was their home, and her family would leave them to it.

"My lady," a rider said, coming up next to the other woman. "We cannot trust them. What if these men were refugees? Why should we believe these strange elves? They give you a name to placate you, but they offer no proof."

The shield-maiden stepped forward to examine the body. She bent down, tearing a cloth from the man's coat. She stood. "The mark of Dunland. These were raiders."

"Lady Éowyn—"

"Let go of me!" Alassë ordered, trying to pull free of the guard that had her by the arm. Idhrenion's eyes darkened with fury, and he lunged for the man holding his family. Sérëdhiel moved to take Thenidriel from her sister, turning to face the shield-maiden.

"Why must you _edain_ always be like this? We may have trespassed, but we intended no harm. We caused none except to those who sought to harm us. We would already have gone if not for them. Let us go, and we will leave you in peace."

"Let her go. Let them _all_ go," Éowyn ordered. She saw some of the men starting to object and shook her head. "My lord uncle gave you orders to obey me in his stead, and that is a child. Anyone who harms them will answer to me."

Sérëdhiel returned Thenidriel to her mother, now free of the guard but glaring hatefully at him from her husband's arms. Sérëdhiel turned to the shield-maiden and bowed her head in gratitude. "Thank you. We need to gather one more before we leave, but we will depart immediately."

"That is unnecessary," Éowyn told her. "We are in your debt, and you are welcome here."

Sérëdhiel shook her head. They were not, and everyone knew they were not. "We should go. My husband should have reached us by now, but he has not. He is late, and I must find him."

* * *

><p>"I cannot see a blasted thing," Gimli grumbled, fidgeting as he did. "Your hair is in the way, you vain elf princeling."<p>

Legolas frowned, shifting around in the uncomfortable saddle to look at the dwarf. He was not vain, and it was not his hair that obscured Gimli's vision. He was aware that his back was the obstacle, but he did not know why the dwarf was complaining now.

"There is nothing to see, Gimli," Legolas told him. The ride had become long, weary as they were after the battle and its painful aftermath—caring for the fallen—but they were not done with their travels. "We have not yet reached Orthanc."

"Bah. I thought horses were supposed to make traveling faster."

"I believe that it is something else troubling you," Legolas began. He did not think that it was even the horse that bothered Gimli. "Will you tell me what it is? Surely it is not that I matched your count in battle."

"You? Matched my count? Only by cheating."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. He thought that the dwarf was the one who'd cheated, waiting until Legolas had given his count and picking a number one higher. "Then what is it that concerns you?"

"The forest."

"Ah," Legolas said, nodding. He had seen what happened to the Uruk-hai that fled the battle. They all had. It was rather intimidating, even for an elf who knew well and respected the power of the forest. "Take heart, friend dwarf. The forest is our ally. The trees will not harm us."

"They won't harm you, you mean. You're the elf," Gimli grumbled. "Those of us who are not should worry."

"Mithrandir said that an _Onod_ was caring for Merry and Pippin, and the forest never harmed Estel when he journeyed with me. You are quite safe. Unless you decide to insult them, that is. I may be unable to save you then."

"Me need you to save me? You, a spoiled twig of an elf prince?" Gimli scoffed. "The day a dwarf needs help from an elf—"

"Is the day a tree eats you," Legolas told him, smiling as the dwarf spluttered. The horse started into the deep water surrounding the tower, and Orthanc loomed above them.

"I'd say the trees can fight," Estel said, surveying the damage. The work of the _Onodrim_ was impressive, with the fires of Isengard all extinguished. The armies were destroyed, and yet Legolas thought some restoration was already beginning.

"Aye, they can fight," Gimli agreed, looking up at a nearby ent, one that was particularly leafy, and lowering his voice to add, "but they cannot sing."

Something thwacked against Gimli's helm, almost knocking him off the horse. He clung tight to Legolas' waist, and the elf tried not to laugh, though he thought he heard others snickering. It was hard to have much sympathy for the dwarf—Gimli had been warned, and yet he had still insulted the ent. Legolas managed a small smile. That singing had actually reminded him of Firyavaryar. His friend had been talented in many ways, but singing was not one of one of them.

"You should be careful, Legolas," Pippin called to him. "That one would run off with any elf—"

"Or hobbit—"

"What he thought was an elf," Pippin agreed, nodding to Merry. "Though I think I'm a better singer."

Merry shook his head. Estel laughed. "I'm surprised they didn't try and make off with you, then."

"Oh, he tried, and he had help, too," Merry told them. "A dark elf almost had him talked into it, but Treebeard wouldn't let him."

Legolas frowned. "Dark elf?"

"Aye," Pippin agreed, nodding a bit too sagely, probably because of the pipeweed. "Grumpier than Lord Elrond, with a scar on his face."

"Nostalion is here?" Estel looked to Mithrandir. "Why?"

The wizard shook his head. "Perhaps it would be best to ask him, if you can find him after we have spoken to Saruman."

Gimli bumped Legolas in the back. "Nostalion?"

"Firyavaryar's brother. He married his sister."

Legolas didn't know if the dwarf would have asked for more information—or if Estel would have offered it, but the hobbit's antics distracted everyone with their supposed spoils of war. He was relieved when Mithrandir ordered them over to Treebeard. Legolas urged the horse after the others, even though a part of him was tempted to jump off the horse and look for Nostalion.

Maybe even for Firyavaryar.

* * *

><p>"How did you convince your friend to free you?"<p>

Firyavaryar grimaced. If only Fangorn had not interfered when Nostalion had Lothanlass convinced that the hobbits were young elves that could sing for him. Varyar had almost been free, but no, the large _Onod_ had spoken and ruined it, leaving him to be insulted by a dwarf. At least the branch had not missed—he'd gotten to see the dwarf almost fall off the horse, which had made him smile.

"I told him I would ask Legolas to sing for him," Varyar answered, shaking his head. He was not pleased by the lie, nor did he like knowing how close he was to his old friend again.

"You don't intend to speak to him."

"A part of me does not think I can continue to conceal my survival. I am not certain I want to," Firyavaryar admitted. He let out a breath. "If they do not kill the wizard, if they attempt to set him free, I will—"

"Kill him yourself."

Firyavaryar had thought he would tell them Saruman was Ogol even if it was a lie. He figured the wizard would die if that was known. He did not plan to let the wizard live. He thought he hated all Istari. He didn't know sometimes why he hadn't killed Mithrandir. Childhood loyalty, perhaps.

"We need to get closer and find out what Saruman is telling them."

"I do not know why they bother speaking with him," Nostalion said. Varyar frowned. Sometimes the enemy had information that could be used, but then again, how did one trust a betrayer?

He grimaced, forcing himself closer to the tower, frowning at the water. If he entered that pool, he could poison all of it. He did not know that he dared. "Perhaps I should have let the tree carry me."

Nostalion gave him a look before pushing him forward, straight into the water. Varyar looked back at him, but his _gwador_ grabbed his arm, pulling him through the slog.

"You might be poisoning yourself, you know."

The assassin did not answer, too focused on getting them to where they could hear Mithrandir's conversation. Varyar did not understand the other elf's behavior, but then perhaps he knew something was wrong with the others and wanted to return to his wife. That would explain the urgency, at least.

Something fell in the water in front of them, and Firyavaryar stepped forward only to recoil back when he recognized the _planatir._ Nostalion caught him, and Varyar found himself clinging to his _gwador_ as Idhrenion used to do him.

"_Look into the stone, pet. Look at your future," Ogol said, dragging Firyavaryar forward by the chain attached to his neck, forcing him onto his knees. He shoved a stone into the elf's face, and when Varyar tried to look away, Ogol tightened the chain until he could not breathe._

"_Look."_

_Varyar tried not to shudder. He did not want anything to do with that thing. Something about it was wrong, though he did not even know what it was. "What is that thing?" _

"_A _planatir._ The _edain_ kingdoms thought they owned them, but they do not," Ogol answered, voice full of scorn. "They know nothing of how to use them. I will show you."_

_Firyavaryar turned away, but Ogol caught his chin and forced him to look into the stone. Images filled his head of bodies, thousands of them scattered across a huge field of death. A dark tower rose above all else, surrounded by water. Then darkness, pure consuming darkness. His sister's cries. Ogol's laughter._

_Varyar yanked himself away from the vision, struggling to breathe, trying to force the images from his head, shaking with the strange feeling overwhelming him after that vision. He was not afraid—he refused to be afraid—but he felt sick._

_Ogol kicked him. "Sometimes I do not know what I saw in you. You are pathetic."_

Something shook him, and Firyavaryar stared at Nostalion for a long moment before he could speak. "Ogol had one of those. He made me look in it once."

"Then Saruman is Ogol?"

Varyar did not know. "I need to see his face."

Nostalion pulled him along, helping him over to the wheel turning through the water. Varyar looked at it with a frown, uncertain why they were there, so close to the others—no, the others were gone. How long had he been in that daze? The memory was not as long as all that, was it?

The wheel contained to turn until it brought up a body, and Varyar cursed. He studied the face, the wide, dead eyes, needing to know if this was the same face that had hidden under the hood, the force of the twisted being that had killed his parents and taken him as a pet.

Nostalion nudged Varyar with the tip of a dagger, anticipating another fugue. "That him?"

"No." Firyavaryar looked at the body as it came around again. No, the eyes were the wrong color. The hair was not the same. The beard was cut close and clean, but Ogol had never worn a beard. The nose, the shape of his face—None of it matched with what Varyar had seen in that memory.

"Then he is dead."

"Is he?" Varyar let out a breath, trying to calm himself. He wanted to believe that, had since his own unfortunate survival, but he did not. The memories alone kept the monster alive, giving him no peace. "I was, yet I live. Mithrandir was, but he lives. Why not Ogol?"

Nostalion did not answer.


	21. Concerns, Cautions, and Convergence

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-One<br>Word Count:** 3,515**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I admit, I have been fighting against the idea of taking this story down again, not just for the sins of original characters taking over and lack of research and lack of my time to write it, but also because it just seems to get worse in all its crimes as I go along. I sat down and reread it the other day, cringed at the many typos I found (stupid autocorrect on the tablet is to blame for some of that,) and realized that the first part of the story was a lot tighter and better than the later parts. Probably because I keep skipping around the events from the books and movies that everyone knows, writing only a side of it that is not shown, but without those parts that are known, it seems to be a bit less coherent and cohesive. I do not know that inserting those pieces would solve all of the problems I now see, since Tolkein did it better, and if he didn't, then the Jackson movies did a good job of it, and me? I'm not at that level, and I know it.

I'm still writing around things here, and this is again movie influenced, with the party at Edoras from _Return of the King_ being the basis for a lot of the beginning, as that time when Legolas is standing outside and Aragorn walked up to him seemed a perfect time to have their conversation, and I liked the idea of Gandalf sneaking off during the festivities for the other conversation. Then, of course, because I can't stick to one or the other when it comes to books and movies... Elrohir and Elladan come in with the Grey Company near the end...

I suppose I should just say, this is a mess and I'm not sure it's going to get any better, though I _did_ fix the typos I found when I reread it.

Oh. Yeah. And the ent... Not planned on, but he kind of took over. So did Éowyn, a little.

* * *

><p><strong>Concerns, Cautions, and Convergence<strong>

"You are late."

Nostalion grunted, but Sérëdhiel rushed to embrace him anyway. His expression softened, and he held her close against him. Firyavaryar watched the exchange with a frown. He turned toward Idhrenion, trying to determine what had happened to his family during his absence.

"She had a... moment before we reached Edoras. She was nauseous, and Alassë thinks—"

"No." Varyar refused to hear that. He did not want to know anything like that about his sister and Nostalion, even if he knew it was possible for any bonded couple to have children at some point.

"Her reaction was about the same." Idhrenion smiled. "His will be better."

"I will not be here for that," Varyar said. He was not going to endure the assassin's reaction to finding out he was a father. He had been fortunate to be in Ogol's hands when Idhrenion did. Nostalion would be far worse, and none of them would survive. "Something else happened while we were gone."

"How did you—no, it is you. You always know."

Firyavaryar could have told him that it was obvious in the way Idhrenion remained close to his wife, how tightly Alassë held onto Thenidriel, the renewed fear and tension in Eruaistaniel, and the way Sérëdhiel clung to Nostalion. He did not.

"While we were in Edoras, wild _edain_ attacked the palace. We fought them, but they kept us from leaving before the Rohirrim returned, and there was almost an incident."

Varyar cursed. Why was it that they never seemed to be able to avoid conflict? It chased them, the same monster on a relentless hunt, as torturous as Ogol had ever been. "This should not have happened."

"You cannot protect us from everything," Idhrenion said, and Varyar frowned. His brother smiled ruefully. "I am a father now. Every little thing could hurt my daughter. It has tried. Alassë barely lets anyone else hold her, even me. I know now how much you worried, how much you _had_ to worry..."

Idhrenion looked at him, and Firyavaryar was unable to move before his brother grabbed hold of him. Idhrenion held tightly to him. "Thank you. I know you never want to acknowledge what you did in raising us, protecting us, but I know now, more than I ever knew before—and I _did_ know before—how difficult it was and how important."

"Get off of me."

"No."

"Alassë, give him the child to hold so that he will stop clinging to me like one," Varyar ordered, pushing his brother off of him, shaking his head as he did. He had been gone for longer times, and much worse had happened to them in his absence. Idhrenion did not need to fuss or fear. Not this time.

"You are in a mood tonight," Alassë told him, shifting Thenidriel in her arms. "More so than usual. What happened to you?"

"Strange elf," a voice said from behind him, causing him to stiffen. He winced, not wanting to turn around. He knew what he would see, and he did not want to see it. He did not know how the _Onod_ found him, but he needed to get away from it before it made him sing.

"That is what happened to me," Firyavaryar muttered, trying to dodge the tree's grasp as it went to pick him up.

"I thought those things were myths."

"Surely not, young Idhrenion," Mithrandir said as he came up beside them. Varyar, distracted, was caught in the ent's grasp, and he sighed. Damned Istari. "You are more knowledgeable than to assume that all myths are lies."

"I think I am looking a myth I wish was a lie," Idhrenion said, folding his arms over his chest. "You are not sending my brother off on another quest."

"That would be rather difficult at present," Mithrandir observed, looking up at Varyar with amusement.

Firyavaryar reached for one of Lothanlass' branches, glaring down at the wizard as he prepared to throw it. He could hit him from here as he had done the dwarf. "I may be here in what could pass for a tree, but I am far from defenseless, and Nostalion over there already wants you dead."

Mithrandir glanced toward the assassin, not seeming to be worried at all. "Lady Éowyn spoke of what you did for Edoras, and yet you make your camp outside its halls. You do not join in the festivities."

"Nor do you," Firyavaryar said, looking the Istari over. The wizard was cleaner these days. Gone was the messy beard and hair, gray replaced with white. White for wise, as they had called Saruman who betrayed them? Or white for purity? Mithrandir deserved neither title. He was not wise or pure. "We have nothing to celebrate."

"Not your part in saving Edoras? In diverting Saruman's forces? In helping to wake the ents?"

Varyar shook his head. "You speak of things that have little meaning—for we did very little. And I cannot give you the reassurance you want. Saruman was not Ogol."

Mithrandir studied him. "You are certain of this?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p>"You are out here alone," Aragorn began, a bit troubled by the distance he saw in Legolas' eyes. He had not been able to talk to his old friend much of late, and it grieved him. He supposed that others would find it amusing that he was almost jealous of the time Legolas spent with Gimli. Aragorn thought that it was the weight of his responsibilities coming down on him again. A king had very little time for his own wants, even for his needs, and at times it seemed like he did not have friends at all, that he knew only grief and battle. He had watched Théoden struggle with the loss of his son, with the battle of Helm's Deep and all that loss, and Aragorn had done what he could to help, but he did not know if he was strong enough for what was ahead.<p>

He would need those old friendships more than ever now, when he truly would have to become the king he was born to be. And yet now he would rather speak to Legolas and ease the elf's troubles if he could. He would shed the mantle of warrior and king and be a friend only.

"I have many thoughts in my mind, and while Gimli's game was diverting, my troubles return to the forefront of them," Legolas answered, letting out a breath. "It disturbs me to know that Sérëdhiel and the others were here and left before we arrived. Again. I do not know what Nostalion was doing at Orthanc. I keep wanting to believe that Firyavaryar is alive. If I do that, though, I call friends liars and must wonder if Ogol lives, too. Then there is all the death we have seen, the loss of friends and allies, and my thoughts of hope seem determined to darken."

"They do not have to," Aragorn told him. "There is still hope. You are not the only one who struggles to see it. Éowyn does not believe it is there, either."

"That is because you give her one that is false," Legolas told him, and Aragorn frowned. "No, Estel, you cannot remain ignorant of the way she feels, not anymore, and you are not being kind to ignore it. You have become her hope, and you may well crush her when it is gone. You are betrothed to another, and she does not know this. She knows only that a hero has come in a time of great darkness when she is most vulnerable. She may only believe she loves you, but that belief is still enough to cause her harm."

Aragorn sighed. "I am not what she thinks I am."

"Then tell her that," Legolas advised. "I have lived for centuries, and I know as an elf how easy it is to convince ourselves that there will always be time to say what should be said. It is not true. We may all die tomorrow."

"Should I truly rob her of her hope, then? Is that any kinder?"

"It is not right to let her believe a lie."

Aragorn looked back at Edoras. He thought of the lies they told the dying men, the ones that went to war against impossible odds, and he knew those lies let them fight and even die with hope. Sometimes lies were a kindness, and Legolas had thought so in the past. "You wanted Firyavaryar to die knowing that he was forgiven."

"That was different. He would have been caused no harm if he believed and survived. It was also not a lie." Legolas smiled sadly. "I _do_ forgive him, and were he alive now, I would still forgive him, even if he had concealed his survival from me."

Aragorn nodded. He did believe that. He knew that Legolas' heart was open enough to forgive, to accept almost anyone. He could be almost too trusting sometimes, but he was a good person, and people were privileged to have him as friend.

"There is a shadow growing in the east," Legolas said, and Aragorn gladly pushed thoughts of Éowyn and Firyavaryar from his head, focusing again on the threat growing around them.

* * *

><p>"Come on, you annoying beast. I know you wouldn't do this to the elf. Just because I don't have pointed ears does not mean that you can bite me," Gimli grumbled as he tried to grab hold of the horse's mane. With a snort, the horse pulled back, almost knocking him over.<p>

Éowyn watched the dwarf's preparations for departure with a smile. "I do not think your friend wants to make this ride."

Legolas looked over at Éowyn, forcing a smile for her sake. He had tried to be amused by Gimli's actions with the horse, but he could not be. His heart remained heavy with the weight of the upcoming battle, but even more so with ones that had already been fought and lost. He struggled, too, to know how to behave around Éowyn. He knew that Aragorn had decided not to speak of his betrothal, that he thought he should let her keep her hope rather than let her know before the battle that admiration and esteem was all he would feel for her.

He could not say that Estel was wrong, did not know that it was his place to interfere, but he knew that he did not feel that she should remain ignorant. He believed that she deserved the truth, even if it was painful. He was tired of his own false hopes. He did not want to feel that again. He could not take another around of disappointment.

"You, though, you _want_ to ride," Legolas said, uncertain why he knew that, but he was convinced of it nevertheless.

"It is not so terrible or shameful a thing," she began, leaving him to wonder who had made her feel that way. He did not ask. "It is not like being always left behind."

"It is a shame that Sérëdhiel did not stay. I think you two would have had much to share," Legolas told her. He thought that his old friend could do much to soothe the troubled spirit within the shield-maiden. She knew how to be strong and protect the ones she loved, but she also chose the role of healer for herself. She let others fight, let others protect. She did not object to being left behind.

"Sérëdhiel," Éowyn said, her lips pursing. "Was that her name? She never gave it, not to me. She said that you did not know that they were here, but she thought we should thank you. I did not understand it then, and I do not understand it now."

Legolas smiled. "She is, I fear, more like her brother than people realize, or perhaps it was only her husband that they reached. Still, I believe that she and the others were perhaps there as some means of protecting me, as my friends will do."

"Then why did they not travel with you?"

Legolas could not explain the decision made by Elrond's council, nor could he tell her all of what would lead Sérëdhiel to leave the safety of Imladris for the many dangers of a journey to Edoras. It was complicated, his relationship with those he claimed as family and friends. They were always at a distance, and he knew part of it was for his protection, even if he did not like it.

"Sérëdhiel would not have taken her niece on the journey that we undertook when we left Imladris. In her brother's absence, she leads the family, and she must consider their welfare."

"And is such leadership taken from her the moment the men return?"

"Taken?" Legolas shook his head. "Sérëdhiel gives that up gladly. She has never sought power or glory. She seeks peace above all else, and while she can fight, she has always chosen not to."

Éowyn frowned. "You cannot mean that. She fought the Dunland raiders that attacked Edoras. She spoke with great authority, as one meant to rule. She is not some timid, helpless female to be left at home desperately hoping for her brother's return."

"I assure you, she would desperately hope for his return," Legolas told her. He let out a pained breath. "Firyavaryar is dead. He died saving my life."

Éowyn lowered her head. "I am sorry. I did not know. I thought her brother was the one with her, the one with the daughter. I did not understand."

"He is also her brother," Legolas told her. Éowyn was not wrong, but she did not have all the information. "Idhrenion is her younger brother. Firyavaryar was the older brother. He raised them after their parents died, and he was the one who trusted her to lead them in his absence. Idhrenion is the one who is willing to follow her lead, has since they were children."

Éowyn frowned. "I do not understand. If she lost one brother, and the other follows her, why would she ever give up leadership?"

"She can give it to her husband, and she would do so willingly," Legolas said. "She has always been a better fighter than Idhrenion, and she might have had enough skill to surpass Varyar, had he not been corrupted, but she chose the path of healer for herself a long time ago. She said she was glad to be able to turn away from battle. More were saved by healing than were ever helped by war."

"There is no glory in healing."

"There is renown, for many know of Lord Elrond's skill," Legolas said. He gave the woman another look, frowning. "I think that may not even be the issue at all, my lady. I think what you truly lack is not glory but the freedom to choose for yourself. Sérëdhiel is happy with her choice, but it is also her choice. Perhaps if you felt that you had made the decision, not your uncle or your brother or someone else, perhaps then it would not matter if you were the one who stayed behind or the one who did not have glory. You have to decide what you truly need and want."

She stared at him, and Legolas grimaced. He had said too much. He had not meant to lecture or assume anything. It was not his place.

"Excuse me," he said, looking back toward Gimli. "I think I had better go rescue the horse."

* * *

><p>"He is taking too long," Idhrenion began, turning and pacing, his whole posture fretful. He glanced toward his daughter and then back to the trees, shaking his head. "It should not take this much time to put a tree to sleep."<p>

"An _Onod_ is not a tree," Sérëdhiel reminded him, and he sighed. She did not like how long it was taking for Varyar to return, either. "Patience, Idhrenion. We could not travel with an _Onod_ following us. Firyavaryar had to convince him to stay behind, and Lothanlass did not want that."

"An ent could have been useful," Idhrenion said. He went over to his wife's side and smiled down at Thenidriel. "You liked the silly tree, yes, my littlest love?"

Alassë laughed. "You cannot use your daughter to keep the tree, silly."

He frowned at her. "You think I am silly?"

Sérëdhiel shook her head as they descended into their familiar bickering. Giving Eruaistaniel a glance, she frowned, uncertain how to repair the damage done by the raiders. The other _elleth's_ eyes were darkened and seemed to look at nothing. Sérëdhiel turned, seeking out the figure at the other edge of their camp.

"What troubles you?"

Nostalion lifted his head. "Why do you ask if I am troubled?"

"I am not bonded to you without reason," she said, holding out her hand to him. He took it, wrapping his fingers together with hers, some tension leaving him. "It is Varyar. You are worried about him. Why, specifically? What happened while you were gone?"

Nostalion gave her a look. He did not discuss her brother with her, not with anyone. Sometimes she could persuade him to give her a few details. Sometimes she could not.

"The waking dreams are worse, and with Saruman dead and not being Ogol, Varyar's spirits are low again."

Nostalion grunted, but he did not disagree. Instead, he tensed, getting to his feet. He reached behind him for a knife, pulling it out as the first of the intruders entered their camp.

One of the riders in front laughed, pushing back his hood as he surveyed their group. "This is rather a sad lot of elves, don't you think?"

"If the sad lot you refer to is yourselves, then I must agree," Sérëdhiel told Elrohir, her arms folded over her chest. She shook her head, trying to hold back her dismay. Though the twins might have been welcome in other circumstances, they traveled with _edain,_ more Dúnedain rangers from the north. She looked to Eruaistaniel, who stared at the group in terror.

Elladan slid off his horse, bowing to her, holding out a hand. "May we offer you a ride, my lady?"

She drew back, wrapping her arms around herself, and Sérëdhiel started toward her before her friend could panic and run.

Elrohir frowned. "Fair lady, you are trembling. What is it?"

"You travel with _edain,"_ Sérëdhiel told him, touching her friend's arm. Eruaistaniel shuddered. Sérëdhiel would have pulled her close, but someone moved, and she screamed, fleeing from them.

Elladan turned back to his companions with a frown. "Cordof, could you not have stayed still for a moment longer? You terrified her."

"It was not his actions only," Sérëdhiel said, in part to remind her own companions of that fact. "We were attacked by raiders from Dunland, and they were no more gentle with her than the ones who caused her nightmares first. She was forced to kill one, and she has not known peace since."

"We must go after her," Elrohir said, turning toward the trees.

"No," Nostalion said. "Leave her alone. If you want to help, take your company and go. The ones you seek are gathering their forces, and if you want to join them, you should go to them now."

Elladan frowned. "I know your gift will allow you to find her later, but I do not think she should be left alone."

Sérëdhiel could guess that she was not alone. Nostalion would already have gone for her if Firyavaryar was not closer to her. Eruaistaniel was safe. The ground trembled, and Sérëdhiel realized that not only had their guests frightened Eruaistaniel, they had woken Lothanlass. "Who harms my elves?"

The Dúnedain looked up as Lothanlass entered the clearing. Their horses shifted uneasily as the strange being approached. He frowned down at them. "You are elves. Why did you hurt my elves? You scare one and make the other angry."

"Because they are fools," Varyar muttered. "Put me down, Lothanlass, and Eruaistaniel, too."

Lothanlass set him down, and Varyar started dusting himself off with a grimace. The _Onod _carefully placed Eruaistaniel on the ground. She forced herself up, shaking her way to Firyavaryar's side, grabbing hold of his shirt and burying herself against him. He looked down at her with a frown, wrapping an arm carefully around her, speaking low in the dark tongue until her shudders ceased.

"Firyavaryar," Elrohir said, shaking his head. "I do not understand—we saw you fall. You... died."

Varyar combed his gloved fingers through Eruaistaniel's hair as he had done in the past, when he sought to soothe someone else, to comfort his sister. Sérëdhiel almost smiled, but she did not know if he realized the inadvertent pain that he was causing Eruaistaniel. "Yes, well, it seems these days I am a ghost that goes around charming trees."

Lothanlass grunted. "Am not a tree, strange elf."

"Perhaps it is good that you are a ghost," Elladan said, grimacing. "We may need one when we travel the paths of the dead."


	22. Finding Kinsmen

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Two<br>Word Count:** 3,086**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I actually managed to put together this chapter rather quickly. I am glad, though I admit that is in part because a couple of the scenes are very heavily influenced by the book. they were almost easy. That, and I do want to wrap this up if I can. Then I can stop feeling as guilty about it. I hope.

* * *

><p><strong> Finding Kinsmen<strong>

"_Explain this to me," Firyavaryar said, not looking back but knowing that the assassin was not far behind him. He had acquired a shadow in his escape from Draugminaion, and he did not think he would lose it before the century was over. "Why does your family always turn against itself?"_

_He was given silence in answer, not even so much as a grunt, and he stopped, leaning against the wall. His eyes went to his hand, to the glove that his sister had made for him, trying not to cry as she gave them to him._

"They do not feel like your hands," Sérëdhiel whispered, her throat closing up near the end of her speech. "They will _never _feel like your hands."

"If they work, I will still be able to touch you," he reminded her quietly. He pulled the glove over his hand, and she stepped forward, right into the glove. He waited, almost afraid to hope, but she was not harmed by his touch, not with the gloves on. Her eyes brightened. "Do not cry, Sérëdhiel. I am—I have been altered, but I have not changed so much as to forget my family. I will get us out of here. We will leave soon."

"Varyar, after what you have suffered, I would not ask this, but they have taken Eruaistaniel," Sérëdhiel began, looking up at him. "I think they gave her to slave traders, but I do not know. I only know that she was my friend, one of only two here that were kind to us, and I cannot leave her to that fate. If I knew how to find her—"

"Nostalion does."

"Alassë already asked. He will not help."

"Yes, he will," Varyar said coldly, turning away from his sister. He knew how he would make the assassin help, and he was not afraid of Nostalion like most of the elves here. "Thank you for the gloves. I will need them."

_Firyavaryar flexed his fingers inside the glove. That was still strange, but he was becoming accustomed to wearing them. He could almost feel normal again, could almost forget sometimes that he wore them._

_He turned back to face Nostalion. "You can choose to deny it, but all I have seen is that your family is willing to kill each other. No, they are cowards who let others kill for them. Turvuin. Alassë. You. Now Eruaistaniel. Why do they want all of you dead?"_

"_They do not."_

_Varyar looked at him. "Oh, you are of use, I suppose, but if they could not use you, they would let you die. They let the slavers have you because you disobeyed them, and they will do so again. Why do you still work for them?"_

"_They are family."_

"_No," Varyar said, shaking his head. "You do not know what family is. You do not know Idhrenion's books and endless questions. You do not know holding him in the darkness when he asks for our parents but they are dead and have been for centuries. You do not know what it is to see Sérëdhiel smile, to hear her sing, to be healed by her gentle touch. You do not know how it is to be the one who holds her when her nightmares return. You do not know what it is to meet a friend that you are so close to that it is as though you know his pain and he knows yours as well. To find a brother in a stranger—no, you would never understand that."_

_Nostalion caught his arm. "Is your memory so flawed that you forgot what you told me during our escape?"_

"_I was feverish. I remember little."_

"_You called me _gwador," _Nostalion said, and Varyar stared at him, uncertain if he believed that or not. Had he lied to convince Nostalion to help him escape? Had he mistaken the assassin for someone else? Did he think, in some strange delirium, that Nostalion was Legolas?_

_He studied the other elf. "It matters little if I made that choice if you did not. I can honor my part, but if you do not, then I hope you will at least remember that you are a cousin."_

_An _elleth's_ scream answered before Nostalion could, and his expression turned dark. He shook his head. "No, now I am an assassin. Later, perhaps, I can be a cousin, but first I will kill any who harmed her."_

"_I suppose it is fitting, then," Varyar said, removing his glove, "that you walk with death itself beside you."_

* * *

><p>Aragorn did not dare look back at anyone as they rode toward where they intended to make camp. He did not know how to do what Legolas advised and speak to Éowyn. He had not done anything—not that he could think of—to deserve the affection that she gave him, and he did not want to hurt her in telling her that it was something that could never be. She did not need that pain, nor did he want to discourage her before their next trial. She would need her strength for the days to come.<p>

He thought that Legolas was disappointed with him, and he did not enjoy disappointing his friend—not after all they had been through trying to restore their friendship after Firyavaryar's death. He did not want to lose that again, but with so little time to spend together and so much battle, so much loss, so many things that they could not discuss, he thought it was happening again, that their friendship was slipping away from them.

Legolas was much closer to Gimli now, and Aragorn sometimes thought he would be always from now on. He supposed that was a foolish fear, something that had no place in his mind as he rode to war. He should be thinking of things like how they could possibly gather enough troops to face Sauron, about what would happen if they did win, what might happen if Frodo could not destroy the ring.

It seemed that even would-be kings were fools, and his friendship with Legolas remained at the front of his mind.

"My lord," a rider from the back of the line called, rushing up toward Théoden, his stead near exhaustion by the sudden burst of speed demanded of it. "There are riders coming up behind us, riding fast. They will overtake us soon."

"Stop the riders," the king ordered, turning to face their pursuers. Aragorn looked to Legolas, wondering if his elf eyes knew more of the threat upon them than he did. He did not want to lose any riders on the way to their camp. "Form a line. We will face what comes at us and defeat it. Stand strong, riders of Rohan."

Aragorn smiled grimly. Even at the darkest of times, Théoden did seem to make inspiring speeches seem easy. He hoped that he could manage half as well if he had to make them as king. It seemed different, thinking of the speeches he had given before and what he might do in the future. So much would change when he became king of Gondor.

"Halt!" Éomer called as their pursuers drew nearer. "Who rides in Rohan? This is the realm of Théoden the king, and none ride here without his leave."

"You are the host of Théoden, then? That is welcome news. I had begun to fear that we had made a mistake in listening to the one who sent us this way to find you," a familiar voice called out, and Aragorn felt himself smiling with relief. "I am Halbarad, ranger of the north. We have come seeking Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Legolas Greenleaf, who we were told were with Théoden and his company."

"I am here—we are _both _here—and you are most welcome," Aragorn said, rushing forward to greet his friends and family. "Elladan! Elrohir! I did not think that you would come. This is a wonderful surprise, but how—why are you here?"

"Oh, do not be absurd, little brother. Someone must save you from the danger you now ride toward, and that has always been our responsibility," Elladan told him, and he grimaced. Halbarad actually smiled.

"There are thirty with us," Halbarad reported, looking back at his riders. "That was all that could be gathered in haste. We rode as swiftly as we could when your summons came."

Aragorn frowned. "I did not summon you, only in wish. My thoughts often turned toward you, yet I sent no word. You will have to tell us how you got it—and how you found us—but that must wait. We must continue our ride, if the king agrees."

Théoden nodded. "If these kinsmen of yours are anything like you in battle, then we have found a great strength this night, and I am glad to have it with us. Let us ride."

* * *

><p>Legolas watched the dawn, glad of the absence of red in the sky, of death. Perhaps this was the return of hope, heralded by the arrival of the twins and the Dúnedain, but he did not know that he was as comforted by their coming as he should have been. He thought that the Rohirrim took it as a portent of good things, reinforcements desperately needed for the coming battle, but he did not know that he felt the same, even though he called Elrohir and Elladan friends and knew the prowess of Dúnedain rangers in combat.<p>

"Out with it, you pointy eared sourpuss. What's got you this morning?"

Legolas frowned, looking over at Gimli. In all the time they had traveled together, he had not known the dwarf to greet the dawn with anything close to pleasantness. "Do you assume me to be troubled, then, Gimli?"

"Yes, I do, for I know that look on your face well by now, elf. Don't bother trying to hide it. You may as well admit what's chafing your armor."

Legolas glanced at his tunic and back at the dwarf. Gimli grunted. "It's an expression."

"So it is," Legolas agreed, forcing a slight smile. "It is not a great thing. I am not a Dúnedain, nor have I ever fought that closely with them as Elladan and Elrohir have done—"

"But they are your friends and asked for you when they found us, yet you are not a part of their counsels," Gimli observed sagely. "Why do you suppose that is?"

Legolas grimaced. "I have two reasons. I like neither of them."

"What reasons?" The dwarf prodded, sitting down next to him. "And don't think you can fool me, laddie. I know when you're lying."

That was true of all his friends, Legolas thought, as he was rather a poor liar. He nodded, taking in a breath and letting it out. "I can only surmise that whatever news they brought Estel is bad—or perhaps they feel I will disagree with whatever decision they are discussing with them."

Gimli grunted. "You don't always agree with Aragorn. Why hide anything from you?"

"I do not know," Legolas admitted, shaking his head. He did not understand why his friend would exclude him, but there must be a reason. Legolas refused to believe that Estel acted without cause. Why would he risk damaging their friendship again? Had they not both agreed that they never wanted it to fall into the state it had been after Varyar's death?

Then why was this happening? What was Legolas not allowed to know?

Gimli grunted. "Maybe we should wake the hobbit. He's going miss a lot of what comes later, so he may as well know now what he can."

Legolas nodded, letting the dwarf go to rouse their other companion. He was not ready to be social. It was unlike him to charge into the company of others, but the longer Estel's council with the Dúnedain went on without him, the more tempted he became to walk into their midst and demand answers. The twins should give him them.

"Come along, Master Merridoc," Gimli said, herding the hobbit toward Legolas. "It wasn't much of a rest, I know, but we're all going to be getting back on the horses soon enough, you just watch. After Aragorn finishes talking to his kin, then I expect we'll hear the order given to mount the foul beasts again."

"Some of them are so stern," Merry said, trying to get a better look at the newcomers, and Legolas smiled down at him. "I wonder why some of them don't take off their cloaks at all, though. Why have those men come? Have you heard yet?"

"They said they got word of Aragorn's need for them," Gimli said. He glanced at Legolas. "It is where that message comes from, that is what is uncertain. They might have told him by now, but we do not know. I suppose it must have been Gandalf that sent word of Aragorn's need."

"No, I think it was Galadriel," Legolas said. He did not know what made him so certain of that, but he felt sure she had been the one to send that message. It was the other part that concerned him—was it also the lady who had sent the Dúnedain to them here?

"Yes, it must have been her," Gimli agreed. "The Lady of the Wood could read hearts and desires. Why did we not wish for some of our own kinsfolk, Legolas? Imagine what a lot of dwarves could do against those mindless rabble of Sauron."

Legolas tried to smile for his friend's assertion, but he could not manage it. He lowered his head, heart heavy once more. "I do not think that any would come—that any _could. _They have no need to march to war, not when it already marches on their own lands."

"Aye," Gimli agreed, his tone somber. "None could be spared."

Perhaps not, Legolas thought, though he wondered where Nostalion and the others were, since they were not a part of the war, and he would have asked the lady for the comfort of those friends if he could have—not that he would risk Thenidriel, but he would see the others if he could.

He would want to see Firyavaryar most of all.

* * *

><p>"I do not understand," Aragorn began as he faced the group of his rangers, his kinsmen, and the twins. They were welcome, and he would not begrudge them coming, not for a moment. He did not want to turn them away—could <em>not <em>turn them away—but he did not understand why they were here, how they had known of his need for them, or how they had found the riders of Rohan when they did. "How did this happen?"

"We got word," Halbarad said. He looked to Elrohir and Elladan. "Perhaps it would be best to let your brothers tell you."

Aragorn frowned. He did not know that he liked this. What were they keeping from him? "Why do you not wish to tell me?"

"We do carry a message for you from _Ada," _Elladan began, exchanging a look with his brother. "He told us to remind you that when you are in haste... remember the paths of the dead."

"The paths of the dead? That is not a path I would take unless there was no alternative—any kind of haste has to be tempered with the caution of what lies down that path."

"Caution? What do you know of caution?"

Aragorn turned, looking back to find the ranger that had spoken. A comment that rash belonged to someone young, someone more like Condir, and yet he did not think that it was the youngest ranger who had said it. "I am—"

"We know that you can be quite impulsive, especially when you are with us or with Legolas, and you cannot deny that, _gwador-n__í__n," _Elladan said. "Were this only a few decades ago, I do not think we would have heard any hesitation from you. No risk was too great, no task too foolish. We would be chasing you and Legolas into the depths of Moria or worse."

"No. Not Moria," Aragorn said, wondering if he had heard the echo that he thought he had. "Legolas hates being underground, and he did not go into Moria lightly."

"That does not mean that he would not have gone there if that was what you wanted," Elrohir reminded him, and Aragorn could not deny it. Legolas was willing to do far too much for his friends.

"Are you here to tell me I should take the paths—and not let him come with me? Should I bar Gimli as well? Do I even have such authority? As yet, I have no kingdom. I would have to ask for leave from King Théoden, and while I imagine he will grant it, all would think me mad for choosing such a folly."

"What Legolas decides is his own course, which is something we have told you before," Elladan said. He shook his head. "I believe _Ada _thinks you must go to the paths of the dead and fulfill the prophecy, that it is a part of you becoming king. We do not care for it much, little brother, for it is a great risk and you have always been prone to injury, but it is quite possible that you have no other choice."

"No other choice," Aragorn said, shaking his head. He did not like this option. "There are many other choices. We already know we must go to war. It does us no good to rush to our deaths down a path that guarantees it."

"The prophecy—"

"Only fools trust prophecy," a voice cut in, low and harsh. "If you wish to trust all to fate and prophecy and the Valar, then sit and do nothing—they will achieve it all. If you want to be any kind of master over your own destiny, then _choose."_

Aragorn whirled, turning toward the ranger who had spoken, knowing that voice was wrong somehow. The shadowed hood felt sinister, and he did not understand. How could anyone have fooled not only his rangers but also his elven brothers? "Who are you?"

"Amusing, _echil. _I am glad I am so easily forgotten. Then again, I _am_ supposed to be dead."

"Firyavaryar?"


	23. Decisions and Deceptions

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Three<br>Word Count:** 3,257**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So... I was a bit afraid of making this whole chapter about one decision, but Aragorn's reaction was hard to pin down (I finally did after three edits and some discussion with Brightpath 2) and I finally think it's close to where it needs to be, but it did take the whole chapter to get him close to the decision that he was going to have to make to let the story continue, so... this was necessary.

I even think it might work as it is. Maybe.

* * *

><p><strong>Decisions and Deceptions<br>**

_Echil. _The word still stung a bit, and Aragorn knew of only one person who would use it—one person that wasn't dead, that was. He would have expected it from Nostalion, since he had followed Firyavaryar's custom of calling Aragorn follower, turning it into an insult, but it was not Nostalion who spoke. It was someone else.

It was impossible, but it wasn't. "Firyavaryar?"

"That is one of the names I have been known by," the elf agreed, nodding his hood, though he did not reach up to push it back. Aragorn had not thought anything of the gloves when he assumed the cloaked figure to be a ranger, but now he understood—they belonged to Legolas' supposedly dead friend, and the other cloak must have been Nostalion. "Currently I think it best if you do not call me that, nor do I recommend using _Gildin, _as fond of it as Mithrandir is."

"I do not understand. You are... dead."

"And have you taken to having delusional pipeweed induced euphoria at random moments? Is that what you believe this is?" Firyavaryar asked. "I assure you, were I to be the sort of spirit that roams after death, I would think of better people to torment than you."

Aragorn set his jaw. The elf was certainly as annoying as Firyavaryar had been. "If that is true, then why are you—"

"Your brothers suggested that having a ghost would be of value to you on a journey through the paths of the dead. I do not believe that, nor am I certain that I qualify, but as I owe a debt I cannot repay if Legolas dies following your folly, I will not allow him to die."

"You won't allow him to die?" Aragorn demanded, heading toward the cloaked elf. He knew what he'd told Legolas—that he'd give him back the friend he missed so much if he could, but he didn't know that he _could, _not when the betrayer stood before him, seemingly unrepentant. "You _betrayed_ him."

"Yes, I did," Firyavaryar said, not making any attempt to deny it. "That is why I have a debt that cannot be repaid, or were you not listening again? Are all _edain _deaf or is it just the ones I encounter?"

"Not just them," Nostalion said. "They did not listen to your sister, either."

"I would blame being Avari, but I think I would rather blame the stupidity of the _edain."_

That was almost too much for Aragorn. He didn't understand why his brothers would have allowed Firyavaryar or Nostalion to travel with them, even if Nostalion was probably the reason why their company had found Théoden's. Aragorn stopped in front of the elf, looking down at him with contempt. "I should kill you—"

"Do try, but it does seem that such small rewards will never be mine," Firyavaryar said, letting his shoulders rise and fall as though dismissing the threat entirely. "Had I died, then I would have earned what little redemption death offers, but I did not. I do not know how I survived, but it would seem that I cannot have the comfort of death. Mithrandir has told me that I have a part yet to play, but I assure you—it is one I do not want and would rather not have."

Aragorn grabbed hold of the elf, dragging him up by the cloak, careful to keep an eye on Nostalion as he did, knowing that any attack would come from him. "Legolas _mourned _you. He would give anything to have you back alive, and you _mock _that?"

"I would mock anything to do with you, but not to—No. Not now. Let go, _echil. _Let go _now,__"_ Firyavaryar said, trying to loosen himself from his cloak in an almost desperate struggle, making Aragorn frown. He had only to yank off a glove and make that threat, didn't he? Or was he alive without his walking plague? It had not sounded that way a moment ago, but he wasn't trying for it, was acting more like a helpless elfling than the embittered warrior that Aragorn had seen fight. The struggles weakened as the elf started repeating a phrase in the dark tongue, going near limp in Aragorn's hold.

He frowned. If this was the lead up to an attack, he refused to be tricked by it. "Firyavaryar, I don't know what you're doing, but I want answers. Why are you here? How are you still alive? What is your—Damn it. What is he saying?"

"He is asking Ogol to let him go."

Aragorn glared at the assassin. That had to be a lie. Why would Firyavaryar do this? It made no sense. "Ogol is dead, and he knows that. This is ridiculous—"

"Estel," Elladan began, and Aragorn turned to his brother, still frowning. He almost cursed when he realized that he'd left himself open to Nostalion's attack, but the assassin did not do more than force Firyavaryar free from Aragorn's hold. His eyes were dark, but he held his companion up, speaking to him in the language only the two of them understood. "It is a waking dream. We have seen it before—centuries ago when Varyar stayed in Imladris and more recently now, when he rode with us. He does not know where he is—he is remembering past horrors. It is so vivid to him that it takes him from the present to that moment and does not let him free."

Aragorn looked over at the two elves and back at his brothers. "I do not understand. He did not do that when I last saw him."

"The trauma is more recent," Elrohir said, shaking his head when Aragorn would have protested. "He died. Or he should have. He expected to. By his own admission, he does not know how he survived. He cannot remember Mandos' halls. He can, however, remember that Ogol kept him on short chain and choked him with it when he tried to disobey."

"His cloak got caught earlier on our ride, and he was much like this," Elladan said, glancing toward the others and shaking his head. "It will pass."

Aragorn grimaced. That was was not reassuring. "How long will it take?"

"It varies," Elladan answered when the assassin did not so much as glare at them. "His sister thought he should go with us, but I do not know that she is right this time."

No, Aragorn found himself doubting that she was. Firyavaryar might not have been a ghost, but that did not make him any more fit for travel than a dead man would be.

* * *

><p>"<em>Now, now, pet, if you could be trusted to stay where you belong, you could find we have no need of this," Ogol said, jerking on the chain. Varyar choked, coughing even after the pressure was released. He hated the chain, but he would not give Ogol what he wanted.<em>

"_My family will never be yours," Firyavaryar said, rubbing at his sore neck. "I do not know how you found me again, but I will not ever give them into your hands. You may as well kill me. I will never bring them here, and I will never tell you where they are."_

"_Oh, you will," Ogol told him, dragging him forward by the chain. Varyar clawed at it, trying to get free, but he could not do that any more than he could breathe. He thought he heard himself begging to be let go, but he did not want to beg. Not from Ogol. Not again._

_He would rather die._

"Firyavaryar."

He forced his eyes open, drawing in a deep breath as he did. He felt weak, as he always did after coming out of one of the dreams. He leaned against the nearest object—his _gwador, _Nostalion would not be happy—and grimaced. He did not want to be a burden, did not want to annoy his brother. He did not like this weakness. "How long?"

"Few minutes, not more."

Varyar closed his eyes again, trying not to think about the people around them. He did not know how badly he'd humiliated himself this time, but he knew it must have been worse than usual—he did remember Legolas' _echil, _and that meant that the _edain _had all seen him lost in that nightmare again. Had he whimpered this time? Or was it only the begging? He did not want to know that he had begged. Again. He could not always remember the moments when he did—he knew there were times when he did not. Why did they not come to him instead?

"I suppose we have not moved, then, and others will be suspicious."

"You are in no state to move," the ranger said, and Firyavaryar looked up at him, angry. "How long have you had these waking dreams?"

"What concern are they of yours, _echil?" _Varyar demanded. He forced himself to hold his head up, to defy the ranger as he had done with Ogol, with Draugminaion, in words when his body lacked the strength to do it by any other means."It is not as if I was in any state to harm you, and who are you to fear me?"

The ranger knelt down near them. "I never said I was afraid of you."

"No? Perhaps you are a greater fool than I realized," Firyavaryar said. He was pleased to hear most of the weakness was gone from his voice. "I am not explaining myself to you. I do not explain myself to anyone."

The ranger's eyes went to Nostalion. "Not even your _gwador?"_

"No," Nostalion said, allowing a slight bit of amusement to enter his voice. Varyar looked at him with a smile. Apparently, he was forgiven this weakness and his tendency to cling to the other elf.

The ranger shook his head. "I was almost thinking that I—"

"Pitied me? I do not want it, nor am I deserving of such condescension. Save it for someone else," Varyar told him, trying to rise. He needed more help than he wanted to admit, but Nostalion gave it to him without a word. "I am well enough. These things pass. Sometimes they even pass as quickly as they came on, which is... preferable."

The future king of Gondor shook his head. "I almost thought there was something in you worth—You've been alive all this time, but you never once told him you were. Your family all lied for you, let Legolas think you were still dead, and for what?"

"I could remind you that I have already told you I do not explain myself," Firyavaryar said. He let out a breath. "If you seek to blame them, you must do the same with others. There is an impressive list of those who have kept this secret. It is not me or mine only."

"You're lying."

"No. I am not." Varyar did not lie often, and he only did so when it was important. This might be hard for the _echil _to accept, but he was not lying. "Ehtyarion. Thranduil. Elrond. Glorfindel. All of them know. The worst, though, that would be your own beloved Mithrandir."

"What?" The ranger shook his head. "No. I know it's difficult to fool a wizard, but you supposedly did. More than once, you fooled that sorcerer Ogol. You can fool any Maia. You fooled Mithrandir."

Firyavaryar laughed. "Do you think that he is so innocent? That he has not used you and yours? Do not delude yourself. Mithrandir was there when I first woke after my fall. He has known all along that I live. He was the one to send me on foolish errands to protect Legolas and hunt for a dead man, but he is also the one that twisted all of you into that fellowship of yours, and do not think him blameless. He has never been blameless."

"I do not understand." Legolas' _echil _looked back at Elrond's sons, who echoed his frown, as Varyar had not included this detail in what he told them of his journey after his fall. "Why would Mithrandir keep that from Legolas? From us?"

The twins exchanged an uneasy look. "He must have had a reason."

* * *

><p>Mithrandir <em>knew.<em>

Aragorn did not want to believe it. He sat still, struggling with what he'd heard. He found it easier to accept that Firyavaryar was not dead than to accept Mithrandir's part in this deception, but even as he protested, he knew that he _did _believe it. He should not be able to. He had known Mithrandir for a long time, and he had trusted the Istari with his life—with _all _their lives. Gandalf was a friend, a good one, and Aragorn had missed him, had mourned when he thought he was dead.

How could he believe that Mithrandir had betrayed them?

"How?"

Firyavaryar blinked, those damaged eyes altered by the shadow of his hood. Aragorn couldn't say if he thought they were more sinister or more pitiful in this light. "Are you asking me to explain the mind of that wizard? I do not know his reasoning. I am weak to his manipulations, but that does not mean I know his mind."

Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know why Mithrandir would want to lie about your survival."

"I told you—weak to his manipulations. He had uses for me, I suppose, as he has uses for everyone," Firyavaryar said. He let out a breath. "Perhaps others thought it best not to distract Legolas. He was about to go on a foolish quest with the rest of you, and his preoccupation did lead to disaster when Gollum attacked him."

Wary, Aragorn studied the elf. "How much do you know about Gollum?"

"You must be an idiot, which does not say much for the coming age of men," Firyavaryar muttered. Aragorn glared at him. He had accepted the elf's claim that Mithrandir had at least been complicit in keeping the secret of Firyavaryar's survival, and yet the elf could not accept his victory with any kind of graciousness.

"I am not—"

"I told you I don't explain myself. You are asking me to. Again. Stop asking, and I will stop assuming that you are an idiot."

He thought he heard laughter, and he turned back to look at his brothers. Both of them had neutral expressions on their faces, as though they had no reaction at all to Firyavaryar's words. He shook his head. "Traitors."

Elrohir laughed. "In truth, though, brother, he was our friend before you were born."

Aragorn grimaced. Firyavaryar frowned. "I am not your friend. I was your guest for a time, but I—I do not recall ever acting in any way a friend to you. Why would you call me friend when I spent most of my time seeking revenge against you for something you had done to Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion?"

The twins exchanged a look. "You have believed all this time that you were simply a burden or perhaps at best a source of amusement to us?"

"Are you saying I was not? I know Legolas claimed me as friend, but he seems to claim everyone as such," Firyavaryar said. He turned to his brother, and the assassin glanced toward the twins with suspicion. "I have earned no friendship from any of you, and I do not think it wise to claim that I have. There is nothing of merit in me."

"Your love of your family disagrees with that," Elladan told him. "As do other things."

"It is not your family alone that you sacrificed for," Aragorn said, and all of them regarded him with disbelief. "Galadriel introduced Legolas to an _elleth _that you rescued from Ogol. She said you paid a terrible price to set her free."

Firyavaryar shook his head, backing away from them. "No. That is not possible. She _died. _She was dead, and that cannot be true. I do not—my memories are all confused and my mind is more than half-broken, but you do not understand. I did not have any leverage with Ogol when he took me. What could I possibly have offered him to free her?"

"Why would Galadriel lie?"

The Avari rubbed at his forehead. "To comfort Legolas? I can offer you no other answer, but I swear—she must have died there. I could not have saved her, and I am no hero. I did not help her. I couldn't. I do not deserve forgiveness or pity."

"Then why are you here?"

Firyavaryar's head turned to look beyond their group, to the others watching them, and Aragorn could see Legolas with Gimli and Merry. Even at a distance, Aragorn recognized the tension in Legolas, and he saw anger in Gimli. They did not have long before Merry's curiosity added to that mix and the others came into this conversation, one that was not finished. Firyavaryar had more explanations to give, and Legolas deserved more from him than... this.

"You know why—for Legolas. I made the mistake of making him family years ago, and I have divided my loyalties ever since—have forced others to do so because I have, and the only way to have a small measure of ease is to keep him safe. When Elladan told me what you fools will do—you protested before, but you _will_ take that path, the path of the dead—it seemed the only choice was to come along with you."

Aragorn almost laughed, recognizing the irony of the situation. "You had a choice. Most of us did not know you were alive. Some of us still don't. You did not have to come."

"Oh, I could have stayed away. I could have taken my family and hidden us until Thenidriel is older and all of this had passed," Firyavaryar said. He let out a breath. "I could have continued to hold onto Eruaistaniel and tried to convince her that no _edain _would ever harm her again, and I could have let you all go to your deaths without any involvement from me or mine, but while I am selfish, I am not _stupid._ If Sauron takes over Middle Earth, it is not only you that will suffer. Or did you think I was not aware of that when I chose not to give you to Ogol?"

Aragorn glared at him, his hand moving toward his sword. "You chose not to give me to—"

"I knew what you were. I know you are the heir to the throne of Gondor. That is why these follow you. Remember I knew that then. I chose one I called brother rather than take hope from all Middle Earth, and you are close to making me regret that choice," Firyavaryar told him. He shook his head. "Neither of us likes this, neither of us likes the other, but you know what I can do. I am still a walking plague. You know you need me for this battle, and you also know that as long as Legolas is with you, you have me as ally and with me you have Nostalion. You can refuse what I offer. You would be a fool to do so."

"I would be a fool to trust you."

Firyavaryar laughed. "That is true, but this is not about trust. This is about war, and I am a living weapon. Now—are you a king or are you a fool?"


	24. Closer to the Dead, Closer to Death

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Four<br>Word Count:** 6,050**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So... This has proved to be the hardest section to put together. I have struggled with just about every scene involving this decision being made by Aragorn and the others. It's such a footnote in the movie and book, and yet it has turned into a monster of an arc in my stuff, each piece of which did not want to be written. I think I had the easiest time with Sérëdhiel's scene, and it was one that after I was done with it, I almost cut because it wasn't really that important and spent too much time on something that I wasn't going to make a big deal in any story.

Then I realized I hyped up the paths of the dead thing too much, and I was really not getting close to writing it, as is obvious by the side scene with Merry and Varyar, and so I finally had to reread the section from the book for about the tenth time today to put together a scene that covered even a part of the paths of the dead. And I still did not get past it. *sigh*

Once again, I owe Brightpath2 for looking over a few of these stubborn scenes in advance.

* * *

><p><strong>Closer to the Dead, Closer to Death<strong>

The truth was an unpleasant thing to face, something that Firyavaryar had known for many centuries, by now he had faced enough of them to where none of them should be difficult. He'd called himself plenty of names over the years, he'd been called many others, and many of those were true. Still, he had not truly thought of himself as a weapon for someone else to use before—or if he had, he'd never been willing to let anyone use him that way.

He'd refused Ogol, had defied Draugminaion, had killed and sacrificed and done everything in his power not to be anyone's weapon but his own. Had he truly offered that to Legolas' _echil?_

He supposed he had. For family, for a debt that could not be repaid, for the death he should have gotten. He did not follow an _edain _king, was not going to his death for some cause greater than himself. He was only offering because he should already have been dead.

He turned to the _echil. _Though Firyavaryar already had his own answer to the question, he found himself asking it anyway. "Are you a king or are you a fool?"

"A fool," Nostalion muttered, and Varyar smiled at him. In that, yes, they agreed. He doubted that his _gwador _would agree with anything else he'd done, though.

"You would fight for Legolas anyway, if what you said was true," the ranger said. He studied Varyar for a long moment. "Why should I let you come with me? You will only follow and do as you please anyway."

"That is true," Varyar said. He could go after them on his own. No, he would have Nostalion with him, and they would be able to find the others no matter where they might go. "It is possible I'd be of more use and value with you. I know Nostalion would be, but he does have a tragic flaw. He is loyal."

The _echil _frowned. "Loyal?"

"Do not insult him," Varyar warned. "You see only an assassin. Only a tracker manipulated into something no one should have to be. I see someone who gave all for family, who will always sacrifice for family."

"And you use this?" the would-be king asked. "You betrayed Legolas, use Nostalion. Why would anyone trust you?"

Varyar snorted. "You _are _a fool. Even with my... affliction, I could not use Nostalion. He chooses to lend his ability to my insanity, but it is his choice, not mine."

"You choose this?"

Nostalion grunted. "Varyar is family."

Firyavaryar glanced toward the dwarf, hobbit, and Legolas before turning back to the rangers and elven twins. "There is one other consideration. I had thought I was past the point of deception, that I no longer cared to continue it, that there was not enough reason to, and perhaps there is not. Most everyone knows of my survival now—"

"Everyone but Legolas," the _echil _interrupted. "He doesn't know."

"And he shouldn't," Varyar said, lowering his head. "It is not my wish to hurt him, but I do not see that my survival can do anything _but _harm him. If I am the weapon I'm supposed to be, if we go to our deaths, then do not give him the so-called hope of my survival to take it away a moment later."

Nostalion looked at him, but Varyar shook his head. "You know that I have been weak and growing weaker. I should never have survived that fall, and with that plague still within me, it is only a matter of time before I succumb either to the madness overtaking my mind or the disease in my body. Let me have what little redemption I can. I have always known that my family is safe with you. She loves you, and that will have to be enough."

The assassin cursed, and the _echil _grimaced. "I never said you were coming with us."

"You also did not say that I was not."

* * *

><p>"What do you suppose they're talking about?" Merry asked, bouncing up and down as he tried to get a better look at the rangers. Legolas was only slightly aware of the hobbit's actions. He could not hear what Estel discussed with the others, but their behavior worried him. No one had been harmed, not yet, but Estel had been provoked, and that was not something that Legolas could ignore.<p>

"Don't know," Gimli answered. "Pointy-ears over there might know, though."

"Legolas?" Merry asked, but Legolas was still trying to understand Estel's reaction. He trusted the twins and Dúnedain rangers above all others, despite the relationships he had forged with other lands and races. They were his kin, his brothers. Why would he have gone after one of them? What could they have done to upset him?

"This has gone on long enough, laddie, and I don't know how you've stood for it this long. I can tell you one thing more. I won't stand for myself," Gimli said, and Legolas jerked himself out of his thoughts barely in time to realize what the dwarf and hobbit were doing. The dwarf raised his axe, letting loose a battle cry as he charged forward, heading for the cloaked ranger that Estel had been arguing with earlier. A moment behind him, Merry lifted his own sword and ran in with a fierce cry that did not match his size.

"Gimli, no!" Legolas began, rushing after his foolhardy friend. He knew there was no need for violence. This must be some kind of misunderstanding, but it would become much worse if it was not stopped. He knew the cries had altered the others to what was coming, but they might not realize that it was not an enemy attacking them, not in time. _"__Daro! _No!"

The cloak moved, another standing to block it, and a blade banged against Gimli's axe, halting him. A second blade caught Merry's sword, holding both of them back. To Legolas' relief, the wielder of the blades made no attempt to turn it into a battle. He held them in place, a tense wariness keeping all the others, rangers and elves alike, where they stood.

Estel stepped forward. "There is no need for this."

"Oh, aye? And what's with keeping us out of counsels—ones that almost became an argument, and don't deny that, laddie. That one over there got you riled, and you were ready to hurt him. Tell us why," Gimli said, appearing to have no fear of the blade against him, though he should have, might have if he realized this was no mere ranger he faced.

"I recognize those markings," Estel said, glancing not at the dwarf but at the knife-wielder.

"As do I," Legolas agreed. "I had thought that they had been rejected."

"Ehtyarion was annoyingly persistent," Nostalion said, letting his hood fall back to reveal his elven features. Merry stepped back from him, intimidated, but Gimli fixed him with a glare. "As was, I understand, your father."

"_Ada _is very stubborn," Legolas agreed, reaching forward to push the blade away from Gimli's axe. Nostalion let it move. "Perhaps not as stubborn as Firyavaryar, though, since he did manage to avoid taking them on more than one occasion."

Nostalion grunted. "I have more use for weapons than he does."

Legolas almost winced, hearing those words. He drew in a breath and let it out. "I am glad you have them. It is right that you do, as Varyar called you _gwador _and _Ada _wanted him to have them."

"You're not bothered by the fact that he's here?" Estel asked, frowning.

Legolas almost smiled. "I figured that he was the one who guided the Dúnedain to us. Such a group as ours would be difficult to find, and Halbarad did express his doubts about the way he found you. That, to me, suggested that it was Nostalion who directed your path, though yes, I am surprised that he came in person."

"I have reasons." Nostalion looked back toward the other cloak. "That one is mine, should he survive this fool's errand."

"What?" Legolas asked, confused. The assassin would not announce a target. That was not how such a person worked, and yet he had. Why? To have them stop him? Legolas looked to Estel, but the man was also frowning, as though he did not like or perhaps did not understand what Nostalion was saying, either.

"He hurt Eruaistaniel," Nostalion answered, as if that was any answer at all. "When this battle is over, I will deal with him accordingly."

Legolas blinked. Gimli shifted, ready to use his axe, though now he seemed uncertain who should get it, Nostalion or the ranger. Merry gripped his sword, nervous. "Do you mean you're going to kill him because he hurt her? What did he do?"

"Harm came to Eruaistaniel?" Legolas asked over the hobbit's words. _"More_ harm?"

"She was quite disturbed when we crossed paths with them, I am afraid," Elladan said, and Legolas looked to him. "We knew that she had been harmed by _edain, _by slavers, but it was more severe than we knew, and after the Dunland raid on Edoras, she was... She became very frightened when we arrived in the company of men."

Legolas grimaced. "Was she hurt?"

Elrohir shook his head. "She was badly spooked, and she ran, but the _onod _returned her safely, and he watches over her and the others now. When we asked Nostalion to help us find you and Estel—"

"You gave him the promise he could have that one when it was over?" Legolas finished, unable to believe that Elladan or Elrohir would do that, that any of the Dúnedain would agree to it. The elder of the twins shook his head, and Legolas thought perhaps the reason they had Nostalion with them was actually to prevent him harming the ranger.

"Bah. Stick an axe in him now and have done with it," Gimli said. "No point in torturing the lad."

"Is such a crime worth such a fate?" Legolas asked. He shook his head. "I know how she suffered, and I know she barely survived Firyavaryar's death, but if this one only scared her, then it is too much, I believe, to demand his blood for the offense."

Nostalion's expression darkened. "No one harms those under my protection."

"Didn't they already?" Merry asked, and Nostalion turned toward the hobbit. "Well, that is, I thought—they said that slavers hurt her and that a raid happened and—"

"My skills are for one purpose, little hobbit. If you do not want me to use them for it, silence yourself now," Nostalion warned, raising one of the knives that Thranduil had given him toward Merry. "What I do not prevent, I avenge."

Merry nodded. Legolas moved closer to him. "Scaring him is not necessary, Nostalion. I know your loyalty to those you protect, and it is admirable, if perhaps lacking in boundaries."

Nostalion stowed the blades. "I did not ask for your opinion on it. If you wish to render one, tell your friend that his company is foolish for taking the paths of the dead."

"What?" Gimli demanded. He turned to Estel. "You cannot be serious, lad. You'd go straight to your deaths, you and all with you. You're insane to think of it."

Estel sighed. "It may be the only path that we can take. I do not like it, Gimli, but that is part of why you have seen us arguing. We do not like this course, but none among us has offered a proper alternative for the haste we find ourselves under. Sauron will attack Gondor, and I will not let the white city fall. I promised Boromir that I would not, and it is a promise I will honor, even if it means paths I do not wish to take and alliances that I would not otherwise make."

Nostalion glared at Estel for that statement, and Legolas wondered if he was wrong to want the Avari assassin with them. Somehow it made him feel closer to Varyar. He turned to Estel. "If it is the paths of dead that you must take, then I will take them with you."

"You're both daft," Gimli said. He grunted. "But I'm with you as well, laddie. Can't leave your protection to the elf alone."

* * *

><p>"Take Merry back to King Théoden and the others," the <em>echil <em>ordered, and Firyavaryar had to bite back his response to that. He was not one of these fool rangers for the would-be king to order about, and he would not ever be. Yet, he did recognize that no one had contradicted Nostalion's story about the ranger who upset Eruaistaniel—in part because it was true, though the fool that had done it was still free among the others. If he was to continue to have that kind of cooperation, he must act the part of a subdued fool—a mute, since it would all be undone if Legolas heard him speak.

He would almost rather let Legolas know and take the opportunity to hurt that _echil, _but he needed to remain concealed.

"Go, now," the _echil _repeated, and Varyar supposed this was a test of what he was willing to do in order to remain a part of their company. He had to obey—or pretend to. "There is still more than I must discuss now with Gimli and Legolas, and the king will have need of Merry."

Firyavaryar chose not to snort at that, pushing the hobbit forward as he walked past the others. Nostalion grabbed his arm, and Varyar stopped long enough to nod to him. His _gwador _could stay to ensure that the _echil _kept his word. Firyavaryar could deliver the hobbit to the others. It was a meaningless task, but he had been concealed as a ranger, and he had to act as though he was one. The foolish rangers would have followed the _echil _without question or hesitation.

The hobbit managed to stay quiet for the first part of their journey, letting nothing more than sighs pass through his lips, enough of them to have Varyar pulling at his own glove in annoyance, thinking he only needed one touch to end this nuisance for good.

Only this nuisance was another that Legolas would call friend, fool that he was.

The hobbit stopped, shaking his head and appearing to gather his wits. He turned back to look at where the rangers had been. "I should stay with them."

Varyar snorted. "Do you think it shows some great courage that you are willing to go with them and die? I assure you, it does not."

Angry, the hobbit stood at his full height, which was nothing to Firyavaryar, even stooped as he was by his own weakness. "What do you know of it? That dark elf—"

"You know nothing of him, and speak not of what you do not understand. They could ask for none finer at their side, and they head to a battle that they will not win without someone of his skill," Varyar said, forcing the hobbit to move again. The little creature stumbled, and Varyar shook his head. These things were useless as well as stupid. "He will not harm your friend. That is not his nature."

"Why do you defend him? He wants you dead, doesn't he?"

"At times, I suppose, he does, but I have offered the same opinion, so we are equal," Firyavaryar said. He almost laughed. No one understood their humor, though, and it was best not shared with one so young and foolish. The hobbit seemed a child, though it was grown, or so it claimed.

"Are you truly a ranger?"

Varyar glanced at the hobbit. Perhaps it was not such a fool after all. "Were I not, do you suppose that I would tell you that truthfully? You suspect that Nostalion will do them harm, and you would rush back to their defense. The truth is, though, that the ones who will do them harm are either far from here—or them themselves."

The hobbit swallowed uneasily, looking back at where the others had been. "What do you mean?"

"Your friend will seek the path of the dead. That path is one that has been sealed against living men since before the your king's men came to these lands, before the Rohirrim. It is possible, according to some prophecy—and I assure you I trust them little, those prophecies, though I fear I have myself been the victim of a few of them—that the heir of Isildur might pass through that way, but he alone could do so, for no other would be allowed to live."

Merry frowned. "But if that is true, why do Gimli and Legolas and the rangers go with him? Will they not all die?"

"I suppose they all go forward under the hope that some allowance might be made for those of his company." Firyavaryar shook his head. "It is not much of one, or he would not try to spare you."

"I'm not that little," the hobbit said, jerking free of Varyar's guiding hold. "No. I am going back. I will go with them and I will fight—"

"For what will you fight? To prove you are not small? To prove courage? These are not things worth giving your life for, you little idiot," Firyavaryar said, catching hold of him again, and the hobbit struggled in his grip. "Going with the king of Rohan—that alone is enough to ensure your end. You need not seek the dead yourself."

The hobbit glared up at him. "Aragorn and the others are my friends. I would be with them."

"Even at an age younger than yours my brother was less of a fool," Varyar told him. He knelt, looking at the hobbit in the eyes, which had the smaller creature backing away from him in fright. "There is _no_ great glory in battle. There is no use in proving courage by death. All being valiant does is get you killed—and if you are fortunate, you suffer little in the process, but few are that fortunate. No, healing is a finer art, and loyalty is no less valuable in such support than it is in war. I would rather have one healer by my side than all Théoden's army."

"You would?"

Varyar smiled, amused by his own declaration. Two he would have fight beside him, were that the question, though he might want Nostalion a bit more than Legolas, but outside of combat, he wanted one, and one alone. "It helps that the healer is one I value more than you love your friends. She is my sister, and I would have her beside me, only I know that she must take the path that is hers as I walk my own. I would not bring her down this road I travel, nor would your friends do so."

"I _can_ help. I _am _brave."

"No," Firyavaryar corrected. "You are a fool. My sister's courage is greater than mine, and it always has been, yet she has never seen battle. The aid she gives us all is greater than any I have ever provided. I have blood on my hands. She has salvation. This life, this path you think you seek—it is not the honor you believe it is."

Merry frowned. "Who _are _you?"

"I feel it more likely that you will survive than any of us will, little hobbit, and so you must go to your path as I go to mine," Firyavaryar said, rising. He looked at the hobbit. "Should you ever meet Sérëdhiel, remind her that she was always the best of us."

"You don't want me to tell her that you loved her?"

"She has never doubted that."

* * *

><p>"You sent Merry away," Legolas said, troubled as he watched the cloaked figure walk the hobbit out of the camp. He turned to Aragorn with a frown, shaking his head, and Aragorn swallowed. He did not know that he could face his friend, not now. He had not lied to Legolas about Firyavaryar, but his silence was as much of a lie as the ones that Nostalion had told.<p>

"I did," Aragorn agreed. He almost wanted to use Merry as a distraction, as wrong as he knew it was. Either that, or he would let Nostalion be it. Again. He still could not believe that his friend was so glad to see the assassin—or to let him carry those ancient knives. It was undeniable that the elf had the skill to use them, but deserving them? That was something else.

"Estel, I know that we intend to go down a path that is dangerous and uncertain, but none of us can doubt the valor of the hobbits. We have all seen it, and we all value it. Why will you treat him as a child now? Everyone's fate lies in the hands of Frodo and Sam, and yet you turn Merry from us," Legolas began, and Aragorn had to smile at his endless loyalty.

"The hobbit will slow us down," Nostalion said. "The only reason to take this path is haste, for nothing else would make it worth the risk."

"What do you know of the paths of the dead, dark elf?" Gimli asked. "They go about telling tales of it when they teach you how to follow Morgoth?"

Nostalion looked at him coldly. "It is not only the wood elves who have little use for your kind, dwarf, but know this—if I followed the shadow, you would already be dead."

"Your mother was a wood elf."

"So they claim, but I do not believe it, and even if she was, that does not make me loyal to Thranduil or his son," Nostalion said, giving Aragorn a warning look before addressing Gimli. "Your legends are not completely unknown to those who do not follow the Valar. I have heard the seer's words, yes. It does not make your choice any less foolish."

"Isildur cursed the people of the mountain for failing to honor their vow," Aragorn said, thinking of the stories that he had been told and those same words of the seer. "I am his heir. Only I can free them from that curse that binds them forever to the mountain. They will listen to me."

"Aye, laddie, they might, and it is perhaps safe for you, but what of your kinsmen? Will you risk all of their lives on this hope?" Gimli asked, folding his hands on his axe. "There is no guarantee for those of us who would ride with you."

"Sauron has seen me in the stone," Aragorn admitted, for he had looked into the _planat__í__r _when he took it from Pippin. The dwarf shook his head, and Aragorn nodded. "He has, I hope, received a blow in learning that I live, but I do not know. What I do know is that he will attack the white city and it will take too long for the Rohirrim to get there. I must go through those paths or risk losing it all. I do not ask anyone to come with me. Those that choose may come with me, but they will all know the risk. And all of you do now. I will seek the Stone of Erech and beyond it, the path of the dead."

"Yet you denied Merry even the option to choose," Legolas said, folding his arms over his chest. "Why is it that you trust us but not him? His size?"

Aragorn sighed. He did not want to answer that. It was not that he thought Merry lacked courage. He did not. "I think he would have chosen to go with us, but I do not think it is the right choice for him. I cannot say why, but I feel certain that he must not come with us. There are already too many willing to risk their lives for a fight that is not theirs."

Halbarad shook his head. "We are Dúnedain. We are sworn to preserving the line of Elendil and the throne of Arnor. This _is_ our fight."

"And it has long been ours," Elladan said, getting an answering nod from his twin.

"And you, princeling, I suppose you'd say it was yours, too," Gimli said, looking over at Legolas, who nodded.

"Estel has long been my friend, and I have fought beside him for years," Legolas said. "I have already chosen that path, did so long ago, and I will continue beside him regardless of what lies before us. Such is the nature of our friendship."

"Bloody loyal fool," Gimli muttered, shaking his head. "Never let it be said that an elf was more honorable than a dwarf, though. I am with you, laddie, as I already said. Let us seek this stone."

Aragorn looked over as Firyavaryar approached, making more noise than usual—than a ranger would—and he frowned, not understanding the elf's need to draw attention to himself. Nostalion moved over toward him, taking hold of his arm and speaking low to him, but for all the frowning from the other elves, they either did not understand what was said or could not hear it.

Nostalion looked at him. "Someone intends to speak to you before you leave, _echil. _I do not think that you want us to hear that conversation."

* * *

><p>"Please stop fussing. I assure you, I am well, if perhaps... mortified by my behavior," Eruaistaniel said, pushing away Sérëdhiel's hand as she tried to examine her. Sérëdhiel shook her head, unable to believe that after the way the past few days had been. She did not want to ignore or belittle her friend's discomfort. Doing so before had not helped any, and to let it go unaided now would be something that she could not forgive herself for.<p>

"You have no need of mortification," Sérëdhiel told her. "What you need is—"

"Nothing." Eruaistaniel caught her friend's hand and held it. "I am not lying. I regret running, but I did not injure myself. I only regret that I was so... foolish as to behave that way, that I had to be found and carried back and... and that Varyar had to hold me to calm me."

"Varyar _chose_ to hold you," Sérëdhiel said, looking her friend in the eyes. She did not want to encourage hopes for something that could not be, but one thing she did not want Eruaistaniel believing was that she was only a burden to them. "He did it despite fearing letting us touch him, and he did it because it was what you needed."

"He _does_ care about you," Alassë said, and Sérëdhiel gave her a look. That would not help, and they all knew that. Even if Firyavaryar was to admit to feeling something for Eruaistaniel, he could never act upon it, and that was, Sérëdhiel believed, part of the reason why Eruaistaniel had started to feel something for him first—he was safe in a way no other male could be.

"I know that, Alassë," Eruaistaniel told her. She let go of Sérëdhiel's hand and folded her own together, lowering her head. "That does not make it any less foolish for me to feel the way I do. I wish I had not put so much of my hope into Varyar after he and Nostalion rescued me. Perhaps I would not feel as I do now if I had not."

"Sérëdhiel would be glad to have you as a sister, and Varyar could do worse," Idhrenion said, and Sérëdhiel gave him the look this time. He gave her an unrepentant smile. "Oh, come now. You know I am right. There was that one _elleth _that wanted him because she had already tried and failed to get Legolas—Bainwen—and there was also Rhavaniel. Both of whom we hated, I might add."

Sérëdhiel nodded. Unfortunately, many of the females interested in her brother had only wanted to use him. Some might have seen the father he almost was to his siblings and thought he would be a good _ada _for children of his own, but most had only sought what Varyar had—proximity and influence with Legolas first and later his position within the twisted hierarchy of Eruaistaniel's family.

"I think it should be said that Eruaistaniel could do better," Alassë said, and the others frowned at her. She smiled. "Well, it is not as though she did not gather the attention of the sons of Elrond, after all. She could be mistress of Imladris someday."

"Those two play, but I have my doubts that any could claim their hearts," Eruaistaniel said. She shook her head. "I would not want Imladris."

Thenidriel crawled her way into Eruaistaniel's lap, reaching for her hair, and Eruaistaniel smiled down at her. She caressed the baby's cheek, humming softly as she did. Sérëdhiel smiled, thinking this was how she liked to see her friend.

"I thought you liked the gardens there," Alassë said, smiling herself as she watched her daughter batting at her cousin's hair.

"I did, and I do," Eruaistaniel said, rocking Thenidriel in her lap. "It is a beautiful place, and I was glad to be there when we were."

"Yet?" Alassë prompted, shaking her head as Idhrenion leaned forward to make faces at his daughter. He made one at her, and she shoved him. He grinned.

"I would not choose any place where my family is not welcome," Eruaistaniel said, lifting her head with a strength and defiance that spoke to underlying strength that continued to sustain her despite her fears and nightmares, that helped her go on when others might have faded under the trauma. She might falter every so often, but she still managed to find that strength somewhere. "And I do not have to marry Varyar to consider you all family."

"No, you do not," Sérëdhiel agreed. They had always considered her family, same as she did them, and that would not change. They did not need a bond or blood to feel that connection. They never had.

Eruaistaniel snuggled Thenidriel close. "What are we going to do about the real problem?"

Sérëdhiel frowned, but her friend pointed above her to where Lothanlass leaned over them. She grimaced. She did not know. The _onod _was kind, dedicated and perhaps even loyal, but they could not travel without notice, not with him by them. He was far from subtle, and they needed subtle to survive.

She sighed. "I do not know."

* * *

><p>"I cannot forget the look on her face when we left her," Gimli said, and Legolas nodded, for he, too, had been affected by the emotions of Lady Éowyn. He had not wanted to see her heartbroken, but he feared that all had done so because of Estel's actions, and he did not like to think of her begging him as she had done.<p>

"Nor can I."

"First he sent Merry away. Then he denied her. 'Tis a face of his I cannot be certain is good."

Legolas grimaced. He did not like it much, either. Estel had rejected his counsel on the matter several times, and in the end, his actions seemed heedless of what damage he had done.

"Cowardice," another voice said, and Legolas frowned, looking over at Nostalion. The assassin had mostly kept to the tail of their group, the ranger he had claimed as prize never far from him, ever since they left the company of Rohan behind, and Merry with them.

"You call Aragorn a coward?"

"Yes," Nostalion answered, no hesitation in his voice. "He said he could not give her leave without the approval of the other king, yet were he to have the throne he claimed, he would be the higher king. He would have the greater authority. He hid behind the others rather than telling her he would not have her there himself. That is cowardice."

"I wish your wife could have counseled her," Legolas told him, and Nostalion frowned. "Sérëdhiel knows much of being left behind, yet she is not the sort to be discontent with it. I wish she could have shown the lady of Rohan the truth of her position, for I fear Éowyn has always been blind to it."

"Sérëdhiel is not left behind. She chooses to stay when others go."

"Yes," Legolas agreed. "That is what I wish Éowyn could have seen."

Nostalion inclined his head, acknowledging the words before letting his horse slow down enough to rejoin the disgraced ranger near the end of their group. Gimli grunted, shifting behind Legolas.

"That one is dangerous."

"We are all of us dangerous," Legolas disagreed, but they could not discuss it further as Estel stopped their group under the dark trees, in the dark hollow at the base of the mountain. The door loomed in front of them, a single massive stone barring their path.

"That door is evil," Halbarad said, gazing upon it. "Beyond it lies our death, and I do not think that any of the horses will be willing to pass through it."

Legolas had not thought the horses so easily swayed, and had their riders asked it of them, they would all have passed in that instant, but the hesitation was enough, and Estel's horse started to turn in agitation.

"Stupid beasts," Gimli grumbled, shaking his head as Estel tried to calm the gelding. A snort from their own mount had him sliding off, agreeing with Halbarad's assessment that none of the animals would pass beyond the door.

"The horses are, perhaps, wiser than we ourselves are," Legolas said, getting off his mount to cross to where Estel's horse tried to pull away from him. He covered the horse's eyes, singing softly to it, soothing it.

"I should have been able to do that," Estel muttered, and Legolas smiled, handing the mount's reins back to the man.

"None are better than elves at interacting with nature," Legolas reminded him, glancing back at the one he had been riding. Their own gelding stamped the ground, likely to charge the dwarf soon enough, having endured too many insults from him. "The horses do not like this place, and I confess—I do not, either. None of us do, I suppose. Still, I believe that we can take the horses with us now."

"You going to sing them calm all the way?" Gimli asked as Legolas returned to his side.

Legolas glanced at Nostalion as he passed, hearing a soft song he knew to be Sérëdhiel's, but the assassin did not seem willing to do more than hum. That was, Legolas supposed, enough for his horse and the ranger's beside him. Legolas had to smile as he led the Rohan horse into the gloom beyond the door, but it was gone as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The shadow here wanted to envelope everything, to subdue it and take all hope from it until Estel lit a torch and Elladan another. Legolas waited for Gimli to return, and once they were both upon the horse, they moved ahead to let Elladan take the rear with the second torch.

"Does he feel no fear?" Gimil asked as Estel urged them onward, and Legolas shook his head. Estel was a king—he knew he could not show the fear even if he felt it. "I see no sign of it on you elves, not a one—"

"We have no fear of the ghosts of men."

"Ghosts?"

Legolas nodded, glancing behind them as one of the rangers shuddered. "I see shapes of men and horses, cloud banners and winter thickets. The dead are following."

"Yes, the dead ride behind," Elladan agreed, getting a shudder out of the dwarf. "They have been summoned."


	25. The Dead, the Gulls, and the Elves

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Five<br>Word Count:** 3,093**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> Um, let me just say that my week was bad enough to where I contemplated never writing again. Ever.

I did get past the paths of the dead, and I was starting to dread the battle for the ships, my usual dislike for action scenes combining with the rest of what was going on, and then I managed to slightly sidetrack myself in a good way, since I had overlooked something: the gulls and the sea longing.

I admit, I always think of the song _Les Goelands _when I hear Legolas talking about the gulls. My translation of the lyrics is probably poor, but as I understood it, the song was about how the gulls represented the souls of sailors lost at sea, and their anguished cries were ones of mourning. It's that idea that Varyar speaks of.

The other song is Legolas' from the book. I would not have been able to write any of this without having the book next to me.

* * *

><p><strong>The Dead, the Gulls, and the Elves<strong>

"That summoning he spoke of, that does not include you."

Firyavaryar lifted his head, looking over at Nostalion, the hood blocking his vision. He did not care for that much, not in this place, not when it was already too dark, too obscured. He thought his _gwador _did not feel the same fear in the dark as he did, not even after what Draugminaion had done to him, and that was just another reason why Nostalion would always be the stronger of the two of them.

"I do not know that I believe that."

Nostalion frowned, and Varyar tried to keep himself from remembering too much and falling off of his horse.

"I have seen this path before," Firyavaryar said, shuddering. He rubbed at his neck, telling himself that he did not feel what he thought he did. He had been free of that collar for centuries now, and it could not be upon him here. That was not possible. "It was in the _planat__í__r."_

"A vision?"

Varyar hesitated. He knew others had them, and he had spent many years convinced that he would betray Legolas—and then he had—but he did not believe himself prone to visions. "Ogol wanted me to see things that would upset me, and this was no different. I do not know that he controlled it, but if there was something he could do to make the stone show me things would unsettle me, he would have done it."

"If you wish to conceal yourself for this journey, perhaps you should stop talking," Elladan advised, stopping his horse as his brother passed a silver horn to the _echil. _"I do not think our fatigue is enough to distract the one you would have mislead."

Firyavaryar tried to glare at him, but the air was rent by the sound of the horn, and Varyar nearly fell out of his saddle with the sound.

"_I find the variations in this stone fascinating," Ogol said, and Varyar tried to get free so that he would not have to look at it again, but Ogol held him in place. "Do you not find them interesting, pet? So many things that can be seen, so many possibilities..."_

"_Let go of me. I do not know how you got that thing, but it is as evil as you are, and I have no desire to look upon it—or you."_

_Ogol laughed. "You amuse me endlessly. It is fortunate, for I should have killed you long ago for such stubbornness. I did not."_

"_And I do not think myself fortunate that you did not. I am not. Death would be a mercy, and you are not merciful. You are evil, and that is what I named you. If I am ever fortunate, I will kill you."_

"_Look into the stone," Ogol ordered, shoving it into his face, keeping a hand on his neck so that he could not pull away. "I doubt that is the future you will see. Yours remains one without mercy."_

_Varyar swore he heard the sound of a terrible horn, and there was a host of living dead—no, he did not believe that, he did not accept ghosts. Laughter. Gulls diving low. Ships. The dead in the water—the birds—no, that was a foolish tale. A field of those truly dead, endless rows of their bodies spread on the field of battle. Terrible large creatures that shook the ground. A white city burned, and a shadow overtook it from the east. Weeping. All were dead. Everything had fallen to the shadow._

_He shuddered, and Ogol smiled as he combed through Firyavaryar's hair. "Oh, pet. How I envy you what you have seen. Such glorious death. It suits your dark beauty and the killer I know is inside you. Soon you will do battle for me, and I will delight in your kills."_

"_No," Varyar said, but he did not know that he would not free himself without some blood on his hands. That was inevitable now._

Something jerked him up, and he heard voices, whispers of unnatural things, more shudders wracking through his body as he tried to summon the strength to remain upright. He would have thanked his _gwador _if he were capable of speech, but he was not.

"Oathbreakers," the _echil _called in a loud voice, and Firyavaryar's head jerked toward him, uncertain if he was included in that summons. "Why have you come?"

"To fulfill our oath and have peace."

"The hour has come at last. We go to Pelgarir, and you will follow us. Fight for us, and I will release you," the _echil _said, and the whispers of the dead murmured against his words. He raised his sword for them to see. "I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me, and when the land is clear of the followers of Sauron, you will have peace and depart forever."

The dead gave no answer, but Nostalion leaned close to speak in Firyavaryar's ear. "Those words are not for you. If you die out there, I will hunt you to the halls of Mandos himself and drag you back."

Though he knew he should not, Varyar laughed.

* * *

><p>Aragorn had known that he would be the one to lead everyone on from the Dimholdt, and he did not think that anyone else would have taken up that role, not his elder brothers for all their elven nobility, nor Legolas, for all his loyalty, nor Gimli, for his stout honor and pride. Perhaps, were they in need of tracking, Nostalion would have gone to the front, but the betrayer Firyavaryar would not have led anyone. No, this task belonged to Aragorn, and it was for him to continue on, aware that only he could control the dead that rode behind them.<p>

This was, he thought, when he began to _act _as a king. He had known for some time now that he was the heir to a throne, but that was not the same as taking up its banner and responsibility. He had not only called himself the heir, he had commanded the dead.

He felt a greater weight, greater burden than he ever had before, and he wished he could return to the days when he and Legolas ran about causing trouble for themselves and others with little thought to thrones, when he teased his brothers as a child might and did not have to worry about some crown that would fall off his head, however imaginary it might be.

"_Echil."_

Aragorn grimaced. Not that he had become egotistical with this choice, not that he would, but if he needed something to remind him of his own limits and keep him humble, he had it in Firyavaryar, who tempted him to cause the elf great harm whether he should or not.

"If you wanted to keep certain knowledge from someone, you should remember to mind your tongue."

"Oh, next time do threaten to remove it. You shall have more of an effect," the elf muttered, and Aragorn looked at him, not expecting to intimidate that creature. "I would have had more reason to laugh."

Aragorn was tired of being insulted by the Avari. He would have willingly ended that insubordination if not for Legolas. "What do you want?"

"You said Pelgarir," Firyavaryar said, and Aragorn waited for him to get to the point. "You will take us along a path to the sea. Already we have passed the fields of Lebennin. The songs of Legolas' people speak of them being green, but even if they are now gray, they are behind us."

"Yes," Aragorn agreed, frowning. "What is it? Speak plainer—or faster. You have no need to be so slow when you give insult."

"Insulting you is easy. It takes no great mind, though I see you are far from the clever one you are supposed to be in failing to realize the risk you are exposing Legolas and your own brothers to, you fool," Firyavaryar said, and Aragorn reached for him. "The sea. The gulls. Do you know _nothing _of the sea longing?"

"They all know the risks."

"The risks of death and the dead riding behind us, wanting to overtake us and rush to battle, stayed only by your will, but I would say that none of them paid any heed to the risk of the sea longing. That is not fatal, no, and perhaps it matters nothing to your brothers, for perhaps they will take the boats when this battle is over, but I know Legolas. He is above all things loyal to his friends, and he will not be able to leave, not while any of you mortals live," Firyavaryar said. He cursed. "Perhaps I should never tell him of my survival, for he will not take the boats to remain with me, and that will cause him great pain over many centuries."

Aragorn knew of the sea longing, had heard of it, at least, but he did not know what it was like, and he did not know that he could worry about that now. "This is the path we must take, and it is the path we have chosen. Legolas chose it as well. You know how stubborn he is. We may none of us survive this ride, and if we do, then a sea longing may be a small price in the end—for we must weigh it against the loss of Gondor. If Sauron is defeated, then even the longing must be worth it, for many have already given their lives to see us to this point."

"And you call yourself a _friend_ to him," Firyavaryar said, disgusted. "Mark this, _echil, _for I will not forgive you this, just as you do not forgive me giving Legolas to Ogol, but I know what he will suffer because of you will last much longer than the torment he endured at the hands of my enemy, and I did try _many _times to send him back, to lose him. I would have let you harm me to try and avoid giving him over to those hands. You are the same fool now that you were then."

"I have had enough of your insults," Aragorn warned. "You can blame me all you like, but you are still the one that has done worse."

"No." Firyavaryar's voice was cold and flat. Deadly. "You assume I know nothing of pain or perhaps you are as immune to the physical as I have become, for it is not truly the physical torture that breaks anyone, but I assure you—I know what it is to long for something that can never be. I know that anguish, that desperation, and I would not wish it even upon Ogol. I cannot touch anyone, you fool, and I have not been able to in centuries. I used to comb through my siblings' hair when they had nightmares; I would soothe them with one touch of my hand. Even though I knew that I would lose any offspring I might have to Ogol if I were to have any, I cannot even hold an _elleth's _hand or I will kill her. I have almost killed my niece because she crawled into my lap while I was sleeping. Do you not understand that I would give almost _anything _to be able to touch? If Legolas gets the sea longing, it will be worse for him."

"Why have we stopped?" Elrohir asked, coming up behind them. "The dead are restless behind us, and you are about to expose yourself, Varyar. I do not understand what made you delay us."

"Do you not know how close to the sea you are?"

Elrohir grimaced. "It may not be as dire as you suppose."

"I do not think it will matter to me or Nostalion. We are Avari, and we are cursed by the Valar, not called by them," Firyavaryar said, not giving Elrohir the same disdain that he did Aragorn. "It will affect others, though."

"Given our lineage, I do not know that Elladan or I will be affected by the longing," Elrohir said, frowning as some doubt got past his initial confidence. "I suppose if we are, we shall take the boats, as _Ada _would want and we might even choose ourselves, since we would be reunited with our mother."

"While I do not doubt that Legolas would want to see his mother again, he will not take the boats, and he will suffer," "He cannot go by the sea. We are already too close."

Elrohir looked behind them. "No, I fear we are already too late."

Aragorn turned around, trying to see what his brother had. "Legolas seems fine."

"No. Look at the vacant way he stares into the distance and how he has not noticed our conversation," Elrohir disagreed. He looked to Firyavaryar and sighed. "He has heard the gulls. It is done. There can be no undoing of it."

Firyavaryar shook his head, cursing them both as he went to rejoin Nostalion. Aragorn looked at his brother. "Tell me he is wrong. Legolas will not suffer as much as he believes."

"I would give you such assurance if I could, _gwador, _but I fear I cannot."

* * *

><p><em>Silver flow the streams from Celos to Erui, in the green fields of Lebennin. Tall grows the grass there. In the wind from the sea, the white lillies sway, and the golden bells are shaken of mallos and alfirin in the green fields of Lebennin, in the wind from the sea...<em>

A song rose in Legolas' thoughts, trying to compete with the cries of the gulls and gray wastes of the fields. Green, he tried to tell himself, they should be green, but he could not think of the green that he remembered of old tales. He could remember only that he had heard the gulls.

A wail, such a wail, and the wide water in the darkness—they must have been near the sea, and Legolas wanted to go to it. He had never before experienced such a thing, and he did not know how to ignore it. He would leave everything to go to the sea, for it seemed finer to him than anything he had ever known in life, and somehow he could almost forget the war that was upon Middle Earth. He could forget Estel, their friendship and bond, close as _gwador. _He could forget Greenwood, the beauty of his own land and every other forest. He could forget even his father, and it surpassed his longing to see his mother again.

He wanted only the sea.

"_What is the thing you want the most?"_

_Firyavaryar propped his head on his hand, frowning as he looked over at Legolas. "What sort of question is that?"_

_Legolas did not know. They had spent most of the afternoon in silence, having run far enough to rid themselves of tutors and guards, and Ehtyarion's voice was still echoing in the trees somewhere. Varyar's family would be worrying about him soon, and Beridhren would declare, once again, that they were both terrible students, but all Legolas wanted was time away from studying and practicing and being a prince. He sometimes envied Varyar his status as Avari. No one expected much of him, and that had to be nicer than the endless weight of being Thranduil's son._

_He did not hate his father, but he sometimes thought someone else should be prince, someone who did not want to wander and see other places and things._

"_Why are you always so suspicious? What is wrong in me asking you a question?"_

"_You are asking for something else, something behind your words, and I am not certain what it is, but I would rather speak of it than 'what I want most.' That sounds like a writing assignment Beridhren will torture us with when we return to your father's palace."_

_Legolas laughed. "Perhaps."_

"_Perhaps nothing," Varyar said, sitting up and reaching over to drag Legolas to his feet. "What is it you are afraid to speak of?"_

"_The sea."_

"_Are you speaking of the tales of the dead men that turn into sea gulls and cry out for their lost bodies deep in their watery graves?"_

_Legolas frowned. "What idiot told you that one?"_

"_My father," Firyavaryar said, and though his tone betrayed little, Legolas flinched. Varyar rarely spoke of his father, and Legolas would not want to insult that memory, embittered as he knew his friend was because his father had faded when his mother died and Firyavaryar had not. "The sea is no more frightening than any other part of Middle Earth."_

"_Isn't it? What about Mordor?"_

"_Oh, I forgot. You are afraid of basements."_

"Yrch."

_Varyar smiled, and then he let it fade, adopting a more solemn demeanor. "I think you have nothing to fear from the sea if you go nowhere near it, and with the way your father worries over you—you will never see it. There is nothing, therefore, to fear."_

_Legolas was not certain he felt appeased by that. "If I went to the sea, would you go with me? Would you save me from the sea longing if it tried to take me?"_

"_No," Varyar said, and Legolas looked at him, confused by his humor. Firyavaryar laughed. "If we go to the water, I will push you in."_

"Yrch,"_ Legolas repeated, lunging for him, but Firyavaryar started running, and somehow he was always faster than Legolas when they played this game._

"Legolas," a voice said, and for a moment, he confused it with Varyar's, but when he managed to pull himself out of the fog that had taken him when he heard the cry of the gull. He grimaced, feeling foolish.

"There you are, laddie. Thought we'd lost you there," Gimli said. He shuddered. "Almost thought you had one of those things _in _you."

Legolas glanced back at the dead, wondering how he could have forgotten their presence, how he could have ignored it even for the sea. He did not like this. How could he be so unfocused, so weak? He had to be stronger than this. He _must _be. He knew that. He did not want to be weak, not when the great battle was upon them and Estel needed him the most.

"I heard the gulls," he whispered, knowing that the dwarf could not understand. No one did.


	26. Battles by Land and Sea

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Six<br>Word Count:** 3,656**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So I have had a really lousy couple of weeks, and despite knowing what I wanted for this chapter, I could not get it done, as I was fighting either mood or migraine as well as a DVD player that refused to play my disc so that I could get the parts with the corsairs and Legolas fighting the _mûmak_ right. I ended up blending a lot of book and movie, though I admit this chapter is more movie than book, but I could not help but think of the _mûmak_ part when I started this story, and it was one of the scenes I planned on from the beginning, though hardly the way I planned on it being, and the end part refused to get written, but it's a chapter, and it's closer to the end, and that is good, one must hope, because I've got nothing else.

* * *

><p><strong>Battles by Land and Sea<strong>

"Corsairs."

"Slavers," Nostalion said, spitting something else in the dark tongue after his words, and Aragorn did not need to know what had been said. He shook his head. This was the battle they had rushed ahead to fight, this was why their path needed haste, and they would not turn from it, not now. Even if Legolas now felt the call of the sea because of where they were, he knew it could not be undone. This was the fight that they must have, the one that they must win, or Minas Tirith would be lost.

"I will call the shadow host when it is time," Aragorn told everyone. "Be ready. We will still have to fight."

"Do your ghosts know friend from enemy?" Nostalion asked, and Aragorn turned to him with a frown. The elf got a nudge from Firyavaryar, and after another muttering of the dark tongue, the assassin faced him. "It is not for us that I ask. I do not care what happens to you or your men, but those ships belong to men of a sort I know well—the same sort that caused pain to my family. To Turvuin, to Alasse, to Eruaistaniel."

"To you," Legolas added, dragging himself back from the shore, his eyes still haunted by his glimpse of the sea as he searched the assassin's face with worry. "You believe there are more on the boats, more slaves. You think that if Estel sends the dead army forward, they will kill indiscriminently."

Nostalion nodded, though Aragorn had a strange feeling that it was Firyavaryar, not Nostalion, who was concerned with the fate of the slaves. He did not understand. Neither Avari seemed to like anyone outside of their families, only perhaps Legolas, and so it was strange to see them hesitate to put the slaves of the Corsairs at risk.

"Perhaps it is best to give the Corsairs a chance to surrender," Elladan began, and beside him, Elrohir nodded. "It is, I believe, unlikely, that they will do so, but if no opportunity is given, then we will not know. If it is possible to avoid causing harm to those they might hold prisoner, then it must be done. We cannot know the minds of those cursed that we brought with us. They have lingered long past death and may not be able to tell the slaves from the others, as Nostalion has suggested."

Aragorn could not disagree with his brother's words. "We will give them warning, then, and hope that they take it. I would spare as many as possible."

He walked forward, nearing the shore and calling out to the men in the boats. "You may go no further. You will not enter Gondor."

Aboard the ship, the captain leaned forward, rising. He snorted with scorn. "Who are you to deny us passage?"

"Legolas, fire a warning shot past the bosun's ear," Aragorn ordered, and Legolas did, letting his arrow fly—right into the first mate's neck. He frowned, whirling back toward Gimli, who looked a bit sheepish before he addressed the corsairs.

"That's it. Right. We warned you. Prepare to be boarded."

"By you and that pathetic army?" The captain laughed, having no knowledge of what the rangers of the North were capable of—though Aragorn realized their number was short two. The damned Avari had gone, and he did not know where. "Don't be absurd."

Aragorn cursed, knowing that it was time to summon the army of the dead, but before he could, Nostalion had already dropped the captain beside his bosun, his knives ready to strike any others who moved against him, though most were too stunned by his sudden appearance to react.

"There are worse to come," he warned, and Aragorn heard cries from the another ship. Was that Firyavaryar's work? Yes, he thought that was, but he could not see from here, and he could not concern himself with the Avari's actions now. He would have to trust him to do his part in the battle as he did his own. He turned back to the dead that were still behind him.

"You're still not an army," one of the corsairs said, rushing to attack Nostalion.

"No, but we have _this _army," Aragorn called, and the king of the dead moved forward, leading his people into battle and swarming over the ships. Screams of fear overtook the sailors, and Aragorn moved forward to join the battle. If there were slaves aboard the ships, they would find them, and they would set them free.

Some might even join the fight, and even with an army of the dead, Aragorn knew he would need every soldier he could get.

* * *

><p>"Be at peace," Legolas said, kneeling down next to one of the slaves, trying to ignore the water all around him. He could feel it drawing him toward it, that he might jump into its depths as many had in their attempt to evade the army of the dead. He had never seen such fear before, their terror leading them to their own demise, to where the dead did not fight so much as terrify, sending all that could fleeing in any way they might.<p>

The slaves, though, they had not been able to run. They were shackled, forced to remain at their posts as the undead army terrorized them as well. True, they had not been harmed in body, not as Nostalion had suggested before the battle, but they were still grieved in spirit, as was Legolas.

He could feel the sea, and that longing was wretched, more horrible as all the fear he had witnessed destroy the corsair army.

"We will not harm you," he heard Gimli say, and he forced himself back to where he was, to helping the slave that he was setting free. "Those dead are at the command of our friend, and he would not cause you harm."

"He would be a great and terrible lord, far worse than any we have ever known," the slave said, shuddering, and Legolas winced to think of their suffering.

"You have known lords of men, and they are nothing to fear," Nostalion said, drawing the slave's attention to him. The man stared, and Legolas shook his head. The other elf did not need to go about scaring these ones any more than he already had. "True terror lies elsewhere, as that one you think to fear—he is a loyal _echil, _and he will cause you no harm, that much I have already seen."

"You are the elf that they fear, aren't you? The one that destroyed their encampments in the north and freed all their slaves, slaughtered them by the hundreds? They said he was fierce, something dreadful to see, with a scar down his face and unnatural eyes, that he moved without sound and cut through them without mercy. There is a legend told about it, the slaves repeat it to give themselves hope, but I always thought it was just a story, that the hope was false."

"Oh, aye, it must have been," Gimli said, and Legolas frowned at him.

"Exaggerated, perhaps, but I do not think it is as false as you think, Gimli," Legolas said, watching Nostalion. He had seen the assassin fight, and he knew that Nostalion could have done what was claimed. However, he thought that Nostalion had not been alone when this legend was created. The slave had mentioned unnatural eyes, and those belonged to Firyavaryar. Together, those two would easily have destroyed any slave trade up north. "You and Varyar did that—at least some of it."

"I did only what was necessary to end the threat to my family, as I have always done," Nostalion said. He looked at the distance, shaking his head. "We have too much to do to linger here. Those that would not come with us on the boats should go now."

Gimli looked at the sky. "It grows dark. We cannot sail in the night."

"Yet if we stay, we will not reach the city in time," Legolas said, frowning. He looked toward Estel on one of the other boats, knowing how this must weigh upon him, knowing that they would still be late even after all they had done.

Gimli grunted, kicking at the hull of the ship. "Some of these boats are no longer fit to sail."

"I did not say that they were," Nostalion said, glancing at the same damage the dwarf had observed. "Nor did I claim there was any wind to speed the journey. We have neither of those things."

"You have many men who can row," the slave said. "We were doing that for the corsairs, and we can do so for you."

"Aye, laddie, that you can," Gimli agreed. "And if you will, that will help, but it may not be enough, not when the repairs will delay us and the wind cannot help us."

* * *

><p>"You're still worried, aren't you?" Estel asked, coming up to join Legolas by the shore. He had been supervising the others as they worked on the boats, and that was necessary work, but Legolas had not been able to be a part of it. "Or is this the sea longing?"<p>

Legolas grimaced. He did not want to think of that, though it was hard not to when they rested so close to the shore, when he could hear the water lapping against the stones. He did not know what could be done about the call he heard. He needed to forget it, but it was tearing at him all the same. He would need his friends—perhaps even the distraction of battle—to keep him from the sea.

"I do not know how to resist it, Estel," Legolas admitted, looking at his friend. "I must see this through to the end, for our fates are bound together, bound to the ring as well. We chose that path when we chose the fellowship, and we have not departed from that course, even when it may have seemed to be that way. Yet here, now, I think I would falter in a terrible way because the sea is interfering with what I know to be right."

"I am sorry, Legolas," Estel told him. He sighed. "I would have spared you this if I could have."

"This is not your doing."

"Even if I was warned not to lead you by Pelargir so that you did not hear the call and experience this longing?"

Legolas shook his head. "The needs of one elf are not the same as the needs of Middle Earth, and you must do what is right for all. You are soon to be the king of Gondor, and with that comes a great responsibility, one far weightier than what we have borne in the past. I do not envy you that, for while I suppose I have now a great burden of my own, you have one that affects far more than I do or ever will have."

"You don't think so? You are a prince, after all."

"It is very unlikely that my father will die before all the elves pass from Middle Earth, especially if we manage to defeat Sauron. No, Estel, I have never expected to have to assume the throne, nor has anyone else thought I would, either, not unless they plotted to kill my father, and they would not do so without acting to eliminate me as well," Legolas told him, watching his friend grimace. His father's lands had never been as great a threat as the kingdom of Gondor, and they both knew that.

"Still, we have always had that in common, being heirs."

Legolas managed a slight smile. "In a sense, I suppose, but I do not think that that I have ever been an heir in the same way that you have. Most of the time, it was only an annoyance to be the prince. It is simpler to be... a friend, and I fear that is all I have ever aspired to be."

"Nothing more?"

"Oh, there was once that someone accused me of wanting to be a bird—"

"A bird?" Estel laughed. "I do not believe it. Why would you want to be a bird?"

"I did not say I did," Legolas corrected with a more genuine smile this time. "Someone else suggested that was what I wanted when I spent all my time in the trees. It was rather amusing at the time, though I ensured that he did not spread that rumor."

Estel nodded. "I think I would as well."

"You should rest," Legolas told him. "You have seen us this far, we have begun the repairs necessary to continue our journey, and you will see us to the end of it, and you will be called upon for much tomorrow, for we will battle again. You cannot do that without rest."

"And what of you?"

Legolas did not want to tell him that he could get no rest so close to the trees. "I will take my turn soon enough. Do not fret over me as well."

Estel gave him a look, and Legolas knew his friend was worried, that no words would stop that worry, but the future king of Gondor needed to rest and prepare for what was still ahead of him. Legolas did not need as much sleep, and he would cope well enough with the sea longing. He could find a way to manage it, for it would not interfere with his duty to his friends. He would never allow that to happen.

He would rather have a longing to fly, though. That would be easier to bear.

"_Do you think yourself a bird that can fly when you are up there?"_

_Legolas laughed as he looked down at Varyar from his tree. "You cannot resent the trees forever. It is not as if you were tormented by a dead tree as Idhrenion was."_

"_Speak not to me of that folly. I only asked if you imagined you could fly when you darted about among those trees, for you sometimes run about them as though you do, and it seems to me quite foolish, for you have not the wings or the wind."_

"_I do not need wind," Legolas said, smiling. "I only need the vantage of the trees and the beauty of the forest."_

"_Hmm. Perhaps we should find you an Ent-wife to marry, since you love the trees so much."_

"Yrch," _Legolas cried, jumping down to catch his friend, but Varyar had already started running, and for a moment, Legolas would have liked to be a bird, for he could soar above the trees and find where his friend had gone to hide._

"Is that a smile? Here, of all places?"

Legolas lifted his head. Estel had, in fact, departed, but he had not been left alone for long. He nodded. "Yes, Gimli. It was a smile. Even in dark places and times there are reasons to smile."

"Oh, aye? And what is your reason for that here?"

Legolas was about to tell him of the memory, but his ears caught the sound of two voices on the wind, and though the language was not one that anyone wished to hear in these dark times, on the eve of battle, he found himself smiling again, for he recognized one of them despite the unpleasant tongue it used, for even the black speech could not disguise the voice of a friend.

"Courage, Gimli. 'Oft hope is born, when all is forlorn,'" Legolas told him. "Even if it is only a small _gildin."_

* * *

><p>Gimli had decided that he was no more fond of boats than he was horses, or perhaps it was that he had a certain fool elf princeling to worry about when he was aboard the ships. He had seen his friend glance at the distance more and more of late, and he did not like it. He could not understand what was so fascinating about the water, nor did he understand the call, but he saw the distraction in the elf, and that worried him, as much as he'd always told himself that he would not worry over any elf.<p>

Ever.

Legolas was different. Gimli did not quite know what had gotten that stubborn, pointy-eared creature close enough to call friend, but somehow, something had changed to where the old grudge between their peoples did not seem to matter.

"You're late," a foul orc called from the shore, thinking them corsairs. "Get off your boats. There's work to be done."

Gimli watched Aragorn and the others jump down to the shore with ease, the whole of the grey company showing itself to the orcs, men and elves at the ready. He landed beside the others, axe ready.

"There's plenty for the both of us," Gimli said as they moved forward into the battle. "May the best dwarf win."

Legolas ignored him as he started letting his arrows fly. Gimli followed close to Aragorn, unable to track the position of the other elves and men as they moved into battle. He would watch over his friends, knowing both the elf and the man to be in need of a dwarf to protect them.

He heard Legolas begin to count, and he swung his own blade into the fray, his numbers climbing as he cut his way through the rabble of orcs around him. The Rohirrim had done good work, thinning them out, and if not for the _mûmakil,_ they might have won this battle without them, without the army of the dead.

No, that was a fool thought—they needed Gimli's axe to see this done. He would be there when the last orc fell.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, and Gimli turned to see the _mûmak_ rushing toward them. He shook his head as he saw the expression on the fool elf's face. That idiot was going after that thing himself. Legolas ran toward the mûmak, climbing on to a tusk as it swung low, dropping down to the creature's leg, barely catching himself on arrows others had used to try and fell it.

Gimli grunted, swinging his own axe to kill another orc, telling himself that the elf would be fine, even though he did not believe that, not when he could see his friend climbing across the side of the mûmak with only arrows to hold onto. Elves were agile, yes, and he knew that Legolas was as well, but he also knew how far it was for the elf to fall, and even when he reached the back of the creature, he was not safe.

He was up there, alone, with all that rode in the _mûmak's_ basket to contend with, and Gimli could do nothing to reach him, nothing to aid him. He gave a fierce cry as he cut the head off another orc, frustrated and trapped on the ground while the elf risked his fool head up there.

Not only that, but he was gaining on Gimli in score, for there was no one to stop him from counting every Southron rider as his own kill. Gimli would have to make it up on the ground.

He looked up to see how Legolas was doing and found himself staring as the elf hung from a rope off the side of the _mûmak._ Was the sea longing so terrible, he wondered, that Legolas no longer cared if he lived or died? Was that the reason for all those stupid risks he was taking?

The elf cut another rope, and the canopy holding the riders slid off the other side of the _mûmak._ Gimli rushed toward it, though the army of the dead were already doing their work when he reached it, killing all that had not perished in the fall.

Turning back, he saw the elf firing arrows into the _mûmak's_ head, once and then twice, and the beast fell, tumbling to the ground. Legolas slid down the trunk, landing in front of Gimli, who was torn between wanting to shake him for being an idiot and hug him for being alive after that.

"That still only counts as one," Gimli grumbled at the elf, who shook his head and went to rejoin Aragorn.

"I think you should at least give him two, dwarf," someone said, and Gimli turned to face the ranger that Nostalion had claimed as his after the battle—only this was no ranger. He wore the same clothes as the one Gimli knew he'd ridden with through the paths of the dead, but the hood had come down, and there were no mistaking his ears as any but those belonging to an elf. Behind him, crumpling as an empty feedbag might once its stores were depleted, was another _mûmak._

"Two?"

The elf pulled on his glove with a slight smile. "Do you not know that in this game the prince always wins? That is what happens when one plays with royalty."

Gimli thought he understood then—this was Firyavaryar, and yet Firyavaryar was supposed to be dead. Had he been raised with the army of the dead? Was that it? When Aragorn summoned them, he summoned the traitorous elf as well?

No, that was not possible. The "ranger" had been with them before then.

"A hundred," Legolas called, and Gimli cursed as he looked toward the elven prince, who grinned, rejoining the battle beside Aragorn.

"Foolish elf. You'll not beat my count!" Gimli yelled back. The strange elf next to him laughed, and he shook his head. "Same goes for you, laddie."

"You amuse me, dwarf, with how little you comprehend the way things truly are."


	27. Before the Black Gate

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Seven<br>Word Count:** 4,875**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> It is both interesting and disappointing to me that this section took so long to write. It's interesting because one of the first ideas I had for the sequel to _Storms in Middle Earth _was the scene at the end of this chapter, at the black gate, which arose when my friends were mocking how the movie version showed the crumbling of Mordor when the ring was destroyed. It is disappointing because while I've had it in mind almost from the beginning, it was not only a struggle to write, it was a struggle to get to, because I have had so much go wrong, been sick so many times, and lost inspiration and confidence so many times along the way that I didn't know that I would ever get to it. I can't say that this has been at all easy, and even now, I am disappointed because it does not measure up to all I hoped for when I started the story. Action sequences continue to be my weakness. Still, this is part of what the story was meant to be, and it is that much closer to a resolution, and that is good, at least, it being nearer completion.

* * *

><p><strong>Before the Black Gate<br>**

"Is it what you saw in your vision?" Nostalion asked, studying the aftermath of the battle with shadowed eyes. Firyavaryar did not know what his _gwador _was thinking, nor did he much want to know. His mind was dark enough without adding any of the assassin's thoughts to his own.

"It would like to be," Varyar answered, looking out at the many dead scattered across the field. He had seen death before, but this battle was not like others. It would be talked about in legends for centuries to come, the defeat of Sauron's forces and the deliverance of the white city, the rise of the king of Gondor. "It is not."

"Are you speaking that way to convince yourself or me?"

"I could convince no one if I could not convince myself."

Nostalion nodded. "That is true, but I do not know that you have convinced yourself."

"If I allow myself to believe that this is the field of death that I saw in the _palant__í__r, _then I must assume that it is accurate in predicting the future. I must accept that there is a fate set before me and everyone else, and that fate is inevitable. That means that what I choose matters little, if at all. I have done things I regret, Nostalion, but if my fate was set from my birth, if everyone's was, then what is the point of any of those terrible choices I made? What is the value of any kind of sacrifice?"

"There is none," Nostalion answered, succinct, and Varyar turned his eyes away from the carnage. He had his part in those deaths, and he knew that he could be doing more. His poison would help clear the fields of the enemy without the need of burning the corpses, and yet he found himself unwilling to aid the victors in that way. "How long will it be before your sister finds us?"

Firyavaryar closed his eyes. "It depends on how much she and Alassë argue, I suppose. They may be faster if they have not managed to elude the _onod, _since he would carry them, and yet I hope that they will be delayed."

"You wish to spare them the sight of this?"

Varyar snorted. "This? No. This waste is... unpleasant, but I do not know that it would harm them to see it. Even Eruaistaniel could tolerate it, I believe. I suppose Thenidriel is too young to see it, but she is also not going to understand what it is that she sees, nor will she recall it."

"Yet you want them to stay away."

"You are not a fool," Firyavaryar said, aware of the other elf's narrowed eyes. "You know this war is not over. This battle is only one part of it. The ring still exists, Sauron still lives, and we are all too close to the shadow."

Nostalion looked toward Mordor. "That is why you fear using your poison to clear these bodies."

"Would you look for the ring-bearer? Or even my sister?"

"No."

Firyavaryar nodded. "It is the same for me, though I do not doubt that they will want to call upon you for your talent if they manage to find you. As it is, we are unnoticed. Too many wounded, too many dead, too many other thoughts to occupy those that would ask it of you."

"That will not last. Sauron has two choices: set another attack against those already weakened and wounded—though he may not because he has suffered loses here—or wait. If he waits, he may cause these fools to think they have won much more than they have. They will celebrate. They will leave themselves unguarded. They will perish."

"Let them."

Nostalion frowned at him. "I thought these were ones you have chosen as allies. Why would you now abandon them?"

"Someone less accustomed to his moods would say that he always intended to, but I would think that you would not need to ask that question," Elladan began, and the tracker looked over at him with annoyance. "I see that our proximity to the shadow of Mordor has affected you again."

"The _echil _speaks too much," Nostalion grumbled, and the twins smiled. Varyar should not be amused by his friend's discomfort, but he, too, felt a sense of pride when he was able to evade the tracker's senses.

"If you have come seeking us to use his talent—"

"Fear not, valiant protector, your friend is in no danger from us," Elrohir said, and now Firyavaryar was the one glaring at the sons of Elrond. The brothers laughed. "We were tasked to find those injured and help them to the halls of healing."

"You are the sons of a healer who is known throughout Middle Earth, and yet you are only looking for those injured, not treating them?"

Elladan grimaced. "It would seem things are quite... tense in the white city. Not everyone is pleased with Estel's arrival, even if it meant their survival, and the death of the steward does not aid matters."

"Meaning the idiotic men do not want elves in their city."

"Yes, though it would be better if you did not go around calling our hosts idiots," Elladan said. Nostalion grunted, and Varyar shook his head. They assumed much if they thought he was staying in Minas Tirith. "You could help us move the wounded."

"You amuse me. I had not realized that spending as much time with men as you do had made you as stupid as they are as well," Firyavaryar told him. "I can help with nothing, or have you forgotten that? No, they will die where they lay, I suppose, if they are not already dead, but my aid would only ensure that."

"Lost your glove, did you?"

"Lost one, tore the other, and Sérëdhiel is not here to mend it or make another. Nostalion and I will go forward to scout and make sure that the orcs have truly fled."

Elladan nodded, though he stopped to exchange some silent words with his twin before addressing Varyar again. "And if they have not?"

"They will regret it," Nostalion answered with a slight smile, moving away from the others. Firyavaryar smiled, turning to follow his _gwador. _They would be where they were needed most, as usual. Only a fool thought this was over.

* * *

><p>"You're in a sour mood. Angry to have been bested by a dwarf, are you?" Gimli asked, looking over at the elf princeling. He didn't know if this was the sea longing or just fatigue after their long match and battle, but something about that pointy-eared prince was off, and he wanted to know what it was. Now. "You still think you should have gotten more credit for that <em>mûmak?"<em>

The elf's head jerked up. "Are you suggesting that _you _won? You know you did not. Even if you only allow the _mûmak_ to count as one, I had plenty more than you before I killed it."

"And you know the other one doesn't count for you. That was the _other _pointy-eared devil."

Legolas frowned. "The other pointy-eared _what? _Is that what you're calling the sons of Elrond? The brothers of your friend Aragorn?"

Gimli shook his head. He wasn't talking about either of them, though he wouldn't necessarily have avoided using those words in connection with the twins. They had pointy ears and were devils. He knew that. He had seen the antics of the twins, had seen Aragorn with them, and he would not doubt that Legolas was worse when he was with them as well. The elves were full of devilry. "I wasn't speaking of the twins—"

"Then you were not insulting us?" Elladan asked, stopping behind Legolas, his twin next to him. Though Gimli did not know for certain that Elladan had spoken—he didn't know which elf was which, damn it. He didn't like not knowing who was doing the talking or the moving. "I think I am almost insulted that we were not the ones being insulted."

Gimli frowned. Those two had to be insane. "You daft fools _want _to be insulted?"

"Indeed, it does seem as though we get little else from the men, despite what has happened here. It has been so common that we have found its absence to be somewhat... alarming," Elrohir said. Gimli studied him, trying to tell the difference between the two of them. He didn't know how Legolas or Aragorn did it. Blasted elves. Impossible to deal with.

"And it is more common to be insulted by a dwarf than it is to be insulted by a man," Elladan added. "We had expected more from you, Gimli son of Glóin."

"Oh, aye, and I'd manage more than a few words directed at you, but I haven't—"

"You do not need to get caught by their poor taste in humor, Gimli. They are only teasing you, and they do so poorly," Legolas said, shaking his head.

"I don't need you to defend me, you pointy-eared princeling," Gimli told him. He looked over at the twins. "I was just about to say that I've got word or two for them, but I was speaking of another elf. A dark haired, foul-tempered one."

"I take it you have made the acquaintance of the elf known as Nostalion, Gimli," Gandalf said as he joined them. "I do not suppose any of you have seen him lately, have you?"

"What do you want him for?" Gimli asked, frowning. "Nothing to that one but a dark look and some minor skill with a blade."

The elves all shook their head. Legolas almost smiled. "You speak of one who was trained as an assassin. Nostalion has more than a slight talent with blades, and beyond his skills there, he also possesses a much more valuable, much rarer ability to track. It is an incredible thing, and I owe my life to that gift."

"Why am I only hearing of this now, laddie?"

"If you seek Nostalion for his ability to find Frodo, I fear you will be disappointed," one of the twins said, shaking his head. "He implied that he could not use it here, this close to the shadow of Mordor, and I believe he is right, for we were able to approach him and his companion without either of them noticing."

Gandalf sighed. "Frodo has passed beyond my sight. I cannot tell his fate now. We need to know what has happened to him and to Sam."

"Nostalion said he was going to patrol the area between here and Mordor," the other twin said. He looked to the distance. "I do not know that we could find any sign of him or his companion, but I know that if we need them for anything else, they will be here."

"Aye? And what gives you such faith in them?" Gimli demanded, wondering how these sons of Elrond knew an Avari assassin—and why they'd trust him.

"They know because Varyar is and always has been loyal," Legolas answered with a slight smile that had the dwarf wondering if the sea longing had made him insane already. "He will be there when he is needed. He always is."

* * *

><p>"We should speak," Elladan said, and Aragorn looked up. He frowned at his brothers, concerned by their sudden appearance. He had knew they had gone out into the fields to search for any more wounded that might be found—the grim task of moving the dead had begun as well, so it was surprising to see that they had returned before that was completed.<p>

"Is something wrong?" Aragorn asked, though he knew the answer before he spoke. His brothers had sought him out for a reason, and it was not one that would involve mischief and fun. These days were dark, full of unpleasantness and evil, and until they knew what had become of Frodo, until he succeeded in destroying the ring, the days would continue on in the same way.

"We were went out into the fields seeking the injured, as you know," Elrohir began, and Aragorn nodded. He had not forgotten that. He had not been pleased by the way some of the men of Gondor were treating his brothers, but he hadn't had a chance to deal with that yet. He was not yet accepted as the king, and he knew he could not make all the changes that were needed until he was. "It was there we crossed paths with those we had traveled with before."

"Nostalion?" Aragorn had not seen the tracker or Firyavaryar since the battle began, and he did not know what had become of them, but he had to admit—he had not much cared. He did not want to see either Avari.

"And another," Elrohir agreed, folding his hands in front of him. "Either the efforts made to conceal Varyar's survival failed or Legolas suffers more under the sea longing than we knew, but he spoke of his friend as though he were alive and about to return."

Aragorn frowned. "You're saying Legolas knows that Firyavaryar is alive? I suppose Firyavaryar doesn't know or he would be here."

"I do not know that he would be," Elladan said, shaking his head. "Varyar looks after Legolas from a distance. That was why he left Greenwood when he was not healed, why he left Imladris before he could be found. He has come all this way without once confronting Legolas, though I do believe he has acted to aid him more than we know. Still, he does not feel he has earned the right to see Legolas, nor would he, for what he did in betraying him—that is a crime that has no repayment."

Aragorn frowned. "Is that truly what you believe?"

"It is what you believe, is it not? All this time you have not forgiven him for what he has done. Even death was not atonement enough for you," Elladan reminded him, and Aragorn grimaced. His brother started to pace the length of the room. "I do not know what we should do. Legolas may be aware of Varyar's survival. He may also know that others have acted to conceal this fact. I do not know. I do not think that he can lose Varyar a second time."

"That was why we agreed not to tell him that we knew Firyavaryar was alive," Aragorn said. "I don't know how Legolas found out he was alive—Varyar did seem to risk it that on more than one occasion yet Legolas seemed to remain unaware of him—but I do not think that it is the kind of crisis that you fear."

The twins exchanged a look, and this time Elrohir spoke. "We are not certain that Varyar intends to survive the next battle. Even if he did, it may not be possible. The poison he carries is from the shadow, and using it this close to Mordor is a risk in of itself. If Ogol was a servant of Sauron, then he could fall when the ring is destroyed."

Aragorn grimaced. "Should we send for _Ada? _Is there anything he can do to help heal him?"

"It is doubtful."

"Aragorn," a voice said from behind him, and he turned around to face Gandalf. "It is time. We must decide what to do next. I have sent out word to the others, and your friends have already gathered in the throne room."

He nodded, though he hated to put aside doing anything for Legolas—for Firyavaryar—until later, but he knew that there was much more than Legolas to concern himself with, so many other lives and fears to worry about, and their hope lay with him, as king.

He had never known that responsibility to weigh heavier than it did now. To have to place the lives of everyone else over the hopes of one, to know that he might well fail in his promise to Legolas—he had said if he could bring Firyavaryar back, if he could end his friend's pain, he would. He had not. He had not prevented Legolas from feeling the sea longing, and if he was unable to keep Firyavaryar alive during what was to come, then he would truly have failed his friend.

"All hope is not lost."

Aragorn looked over at the wizard. "Was I so melancholy that you thought those words were necessary? Do I seem that troubled to you?"

"You did seem quite grave there, brother," Elrohir told him. "Perhaps we have said too much, added too many burdens to you."

"Perhaps," Aragorn said. He looked to Gandalf. "This hope you speak of... is it a _gildin?"_

"It may be. There is still a role yet for that one in Middle Earth."

"And that is why you did not tell us that he was alive? Why you concealed that fact from Legolas all this time?" Aragorn demanded. "You _did _know that Firyavaryar survived the fall, didn't you? Why did you not speak of it? All that time that Legolas grieved, that he suffered—"

Gandalf closed his eyes, letting out a breath. "Much of Firyavaryar's path has been obscured from the sight of those who would aid him. He was a variable that could not be predicted, and though at times his fate appeared set, it still became uncertain. Surely none of us would have permitted him to be afflicted as he has been if we had known, but we were not allowed to know. We could not track him, could not find him, could not help him. Perhaps that was as it must be, for he carries that plague within him that has aided you in battle more than once. The ability Nostalion has is not to be overlooked, either. I wish I could have asked him to seek Frodo for me, but he is unavailable, and I do not know that we will be able to learn of Frodo's fate from any friendly source."

Aragorn nodded. He had seen for himself how the elf struggled when he was close to the nazgûl, and it must be worse for him here, this close to Mordor, with so many of them as well as other dark servants nearby. "We may not know what Frodo's fate is, but we can still make plans. We _must _make plans."

"It may mean another battle," Gandalf warned. "One we may not be prepared to fight."

"Then it means battle. Come. We will discuss it."

* * *

><p>Estel had become a king.<p>

He might not have been crowned, and he might not even have been acknowledged, but that did not matter. As he led the army out to battle, he had led them not as a ranger, not as an adviser, but as a king. He had carried the confidence that everyone needed, buoying them along with him as he took them into battle. This was the man that they had been waiting for, this was their hope, and he continued to inspire them even though the black gates loomed before them and the servant of Sauron claimed that Frodo was dead.

That speech he had given was the speech of a king, one full of confidence, and it was as it should be. Legolas knew that Estel could have a cause for his conviction. Even as the servant of Sauron lied, as he tried to use Frodo's mithril shirt to convince them, if Estel had found Nostalion among the warriors—and Legolas felt certain he was there—the tracker would have given him the truth.

Frodo lived.

And Estel was king.

Legolas knew that he had, in some sense, lost his friend to that role. It was something he could not give much thought to, not with battle nearly upon them, but he knew—this was the end of their free days of roaming, their days of causing trouble and mischief, their days of worrying their fathers with their antics. From now on, Estel would act as a king.

He fought like a king.

He always had, but somehow, it was still different now. It might have been that it was the last battle, that they were against an overwhelming number and that hope should have fled from them. They had drawn out Sauron's army as he had set out to do, and they had known their chances were not good, but they were only the diversion. A diversion only had to last long enough to allow something else to happen.

If Nostalion was near, if Legolas could ask him how close to Mount Doom Frodo was, he would, and he knew that all would be reassured to know that Frodo and Sam were close to the end, that they had to survive only a few minutes more.

Only that survival seemed impossible. Their number had always been fewer than the host of their enemy, and though they were all skilled and battle-tested warriors here, the survivors of the assault on Minas Tirith and some Helm's Deep as well, it was not enough. It did not matter their skill, for as many as they cut down, more orcs came, a seemingly endless number. He did not know his own count of kills, and he was uncertain if Gimli did, either.

Legolas heard a cry, seeing many orcs rushing against Estel, and he would have gone to his friend's side to aid him, but he could not get close. Orcs and allies pressed against him, barring his path, and one tried to climb upon him to force him to the ground as they had done Estel.

This was the last battle. They could all die here.

If Frodo made it to Mount Doom, then perhaps the sacrifice was worth it. If he did not, if he needed more time—they must find some way of holding out longer, but Legolas could think of nothing. He forced the orc off his back, grimacing as he saw the gash along his arm. Pain was everywhere, having little meaning now, but he would feel all of this later—assuming he lived, that any of them did.

Wait. He _did _know how they could give Frodo more time.

"Varyar!" Legolas did not know where his friend was in this crowd, but he knew that Firyavaryar's loyalty would not have let him stay far from where Legolas was. He would be close enough to hear him, and even if he was not, Nostalion would be. "The arrows!"

"What are you on about, you daft princeling?" Gimli demanded, kicking aside an orc he'd just killed with his axe. Legolas dodged another, letting it go into the dwarf's path, not caring about the count now. "They're too close for any arrows."

"They will not be for long," Nostalion said, and Gimli glared at the assassin as his blade moved into an orc that the dwarf would have claimed for his own. Legolas shook his head. Were it not for pride, they should all have been glad to see the assassin draw near. Few could fight like he did, and he was a valuable ally even without the tracking he did. "Clear the path, dwarf, and keep it clear. Your friend has a plan."

"A plan? Among this madness?"

"Yes," Legolas insisted. He knew Gimli would think he was insane, would perhaps blame all of this on the sea longing, but he did not. He knew what must be done. "Varyar suggested it before, when we were outnumbered, but we did not need it then. We need it now."

"You are wounded," Firyavaryar said, appearing at Legolas' side. Behind him, a gap had formed in the crowd of orcs. Many hissed in pain as the poison took hold of them, and Gimli looked at Varyar as though perhaps he was the enemy. Legolas knew he was not. He did not know how his friend had survived, and he did not care. Firyavaryar was alive. He was here, and they needed him. "It is too dangerous. You won't be able to release the arrows in time."

"We have to," Legolas said, his eyes going back to Estel. He could not get close to the man, not without Varyar's help in some way. He knew others were closer, and he would have to trust that they would be able to assist Estel while Legolas fought in another way. "This is what must be done, Varyar. I trust you to do it."

"You remain a fool," Varyar told him, but he nodded. "Gather your arrows. At least three, though more would be better."

"More archers?" Elrohir asked, coming up to them as Legolas prepared his bow. He could not risk doing more than three arrows, not with his injury, and the arrival of another skilled archer was more than welcome. He also knew that Elladan would find his way to them when he was done helping Estel. "Nostalion, Legolas, and I are not enough?"

"I hope your skill at archery has improved over the centuries," Firyavaryar told him, and Elrohir laughed, leading Gimli to curse all elves. The Avari ignored him as he withdrew a blade from a fallen orc. "You will not have long. Aim your arrows for the ground, space them apart. The dwarf might keep the closer ones off of us until we are ready to fire, so try not to hit him in the process."

"Why you—"

"_Yrch," _Legolas said, cutting off the dwarf's curses and getting laughter from his old friend. Elrohir smiled as he readied his bow, and Nostalion joined them, catching Varyar by the arm. Whatever words passed between them were either lost in the dark tongue or the noise of battle, but Firyavaryar nodded, stepping back. He let out a breath before placing the blade against his palm. He cut across it, and Legolas watched blood well up out of the wound.

Varyar moved forward, smearing the blood against the tips of Nostalion's arrows, and the assassin fired them off, hardly giving his friend a chance to get out of their path. Firyavaryar cupped his hand, not allowing blood to spill on the ground. He reached Elrohir, quickly spreading blood across his arrows. He ran from Elrohir's side as soon as he was done, one hand clamped firmly over the other.

If any of the blood touched the ground before this was done—but no, it wouldn't. Legolas knew that Varyar would not let that happen. He waited, knowing he would have to be quick when his own turn came.

He heard a rumble around him, voices shouting about eagles coming and the shrieks of nazgûl, but he did forced himself to think only of the arrows he had lined along his bow. Varyar had warned them all about the timing, and Nostalion had shown them how fast the release must be, and Legolas knew that he would be fighting his own weakness, but he _would _do this.

"I trust you," Legolas repeated, and Varyar hesitated over the arrows, shaking his head. "I am glad you are alive and here with us now."

"I am not," Firyavaryar said, wiping his palm along the arrows before Legolas could argue with him. He corrected his aim even as he released the arrows, watching them fly forward.

"You daft elf! That was almost my head!"

"It was almost a pity," Legolas called back, and Gimli grunted, whatever else he would have said forgotten as the arrows struck the ground, splitting it. Orcs cried in panic as the earth around them changed, cracks forming and holes opening up beneath them, plunging them down into the nothingness below. `

The dark tower started to crumble, crashing down upon itself as the ground swallowed the gate and the armies of Mordor with it. Some tried to flee, but they did not find shelter or safety, unable to escape as the land itself was their enemy, swallowing up all of their evil.

"Frodo!" A hobbit—Pippin most likely—cried. "He's done it! He's destroyed the ring."

Legolas smiled. Though he did believe that Frodo had fulfilled his quest, he knew that it was not Frodo alone they should be thanking. He did not know that the destruction of the ring could have done as much damage as what they had all just beheld. Sauron's power was strong, but he had not created all of those orcs or bound the gate to his will only. The tower, perhaps, would still have fallen, for it was a manifestation of his being, the home of his eye, but not all of it would have crumbled without help.

He turned to find the other who had made this possible, but he did not see his friend among those still standing. He did not see Firyavaryar at all. His _gwador _was gone.


	28. Consequences of Battles and Choices

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Eight<br>Word Count:** 5,080**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> It is, I suppose, a good thing that I was able to get this put together a lot faster than the last few chapters. It is even a bit impressive when I consider all that was going on this past week and how little time I had for myself at all. I hesitate to call it a good thing because I had to stop and rewrite the last scene, and it didn't get to where I had planned to end this chapter. Perhaps that is better. Perhaps not.

* * *

><p><strong>Consequences of Battles and Choices<strong>

Sérëdhiel knew told herself firmly that the unpleasant churning in her stomach was because of what she could see in this aftermath of war, in knowing that those she loved most—her husband and her brother—had been a part of the destruction that she could see all around her, and not because of anything that Alassë would suggest to spite her. She forced herself to go forward, unwilling to let her unease dissuade her from her path. She had to find her way to her brother or Nostalion—she expected them to be together, but she knew that she should not assume that.

She led the others across the battle-scarred land, not stopping for the bodies or the debris. She did not want to think about how many must have died—only that the ones that she loved _must _have survived this. She would not accept any other outcome. Her family was alive, and soon they would all be together again.

Varyar had disappeared for much longer and fought through worse than this, and she knew that Nostalion had as well. He would not let her brother fall, nor would Firyavaryar allow anyone he protected to be harmed. Nostalion was family. Varyar would make certain that his family came through it alive, even if it cost him everything.

"Why do we not go for the city itself?" Eruaistaniel asked, and Sérëdhiel looked back at her with a frown. Perhaps it was the fatigue that motivated her friend's question. They had been traveling for many days now, and Eruaistaniel of all of them got the least sleep, plagued as she was by nightmares. Even with Thenidriel, Alassë managed to appear more rested when they broke camp. "I have no true desire to dwell in a city of men, no matter how fine its appearance, but I do not know why we turn from the obvious location. Legolas will be with his friend, the one that is Isildur's heir, and that one would be at Minas Tirith."

"I do believe that they will be there, and I know there will be need for us in the city's halls of healing," Sérëdhiel told her. She knew that was where she should be, that she should be in those halls, using her training to aid others, but she was still selfish. She would not put those others before her family. "I also know that Varyar would not be there. Even if he were injured, he would not go among the others to be treated."

"He knows there is no cure," Idhrenion said, shaking his head. Alassë touched his arm, comforting him, and he forced himself to smile for her and Thenidriel. He brushed his hand against his wife's cheek before he closed his eyes and spoke, letting his hand fall as he did. "He would not risk spreading what he carries to those already weakened. He would try to heal himself somewhere that he could not harm anyone, if healing was even possible."

"Healing _is_ possible," Sérëdhiel insisted, refusing to allow herself to think of the alternative. She would not lose her brother, would not lose Nostalion, either. She would find them. It would be easier if she had her husband's ability, but it was not impossible without it. He might even find her, now that they were closer to where he should be.

"I do not see strange elf," Lothanlass said, and Sérëdhiel sighed. She would like to have found some way to leave the _onod _behind, but they had not managed to do it yet. Even when he fell asleep, he somehow managed to wake and locate them, though she supposed their pace was not what it would have been without a _gwinig _with them. "I do not see anyone alive at all. I do not like to see so much death."

"None of us do," Idhrenion told him. He let out a breath. "The air is different now. The shadow no longer holds as it once did. Even though there is death and decay, there is not darkness, not as it was before. It has been lifted, and I can feel it everywhere. The land is lighter. We are all much lighter."

The _onod _looked at him, and then he lifted him up, studying him. "I do not believe you are lighter, brother of strange elf."

Idhrenion glared at the ent. "Put me down."

Thenidriel giggled. Idhrenion glanced toward her. "It is a sad day indeed when my own daughter is against me. Varyar would be laughing, and I suppose it it is rather... pitiable, but I cannot say I like this. Why must I be humiliated in front of—and even _by—_my offspring?"

"Perhaps because you are just that sort of fool?" Alassë answered with a smile. "Thenidriel, we do _like _that your father is such a silly elf, do we not? Or am I alone in this?"

The _gwinig _laughed, and Idhrenion grunted, trying to adjust his place inside the ent's hold. "We need to find Varyar. Quickly."

* * *

><p>"Let me see to your arm."<p>

Legolas shook his head. "You do not need to treat me. I am well enough."

Aragorn looked at his friend, shaking his head at the elf's stubbornness. He would still be standing on the battlefield if he could, looking for the friend that had supposedly made their victory possible. Aragorn didn't know that he believed that—it was not that he would accuse Legolas or any of the others of lying, and he knew that Gandalf had said that Firyavaryar had a part to play yet—but Aragorn would rather credit the land's collapse to the destruction of the ring than the poison that Firyavaryar carried. It seemed even more likely when he considered that the Avari had disappeared after his "trick" and not been seen since, not him or Nostalion.

"Leaving your wound untreated will not bring him back. Even if he is protective of you, he cannot save you from your own stupidity when it comes to your health," Aragorn told Legolas, and the prince of Mirkwood glared at him.

"You assume that all I am concerned with is Varyar. That is not true," Legolas insisted. "Though I suppose I am glad that you are not speaking of it as though the sea longing is behind all this, that I am not—that I did not imagine all of it because of that malady."

Aragorn shook his head. "I would not belittle what you have suffered because of that longing, but I do not think it made you crazy. You were not alone in seeing or working with Firyavaryar."

Legolas looked at him, inclining his head. "Were you also aware that he was alive?"

There. The question Aragorn had been dreading. He did not want to answer truthfully, but he could not lie to Legolas. They were _gwedeir__, _and he would not betray that. "I was."

"You are needed elsewhere, and this will heal on its own."

Aragorn shook his head. "I am not going because you are angry with me. I cannot leave under these terms. It was not that long ago that a rift formed between us because of Firyavaryar, and I refuse to let that happen again. I did not tell you I knew of his survival—"

"I did not ask for an excuse."

"He asked us not to tell you," Aragorn said, unwilling to be blamed for Firyavaryar's actions. "He did not intend to survive the battle, and he said it would only hurt you more to have him be alive, to have hope, and then lose it again. I agreed with him, though I did not like it."

"You do not like anything to do with Firyavaryar," Legolas said. He shook his head. "I did not tell you to go because I am interested in creating another rift. I told you to go because I still believe what I told you before—I am well enough, and you are needed elsewhere."

"Legolas, I do not want you to suffer, not because you are stubborn and not because you are angry with me and also not because I chose poorly. I did not know how to refuse Firyavaryar's offer to fight with us, not when he seemed necessary, but his terms were, as usual, unacceptable."

The elf shook his head. "I am not angry about your choice, Estel. I think I may have made the same, though it would not have been as successful—I am a poor liar—but I do know that you should be somewhere else. You have duties, and they are not to me, not when time alone will mend this wound."

Aragorn blinked. "Are you trying to _make _me leave?"

"You are a king, and while the hands of the king can heal, they are needed by others, not by me. I am not suffering, and so if you insist upon healing someone, find someone who needs it more. If not, please know that you are free to see to your other duties."

"I am not a king yet."

"The coronation is only a ceremony. You became king when you led them into battle," Legolas told him, smiling a little. "You are too good a man and too good a king to linger here with one that is not injured. Go."

"Don't worry, laddie. I'll stick with this one and see that he gets treated," Gimli said, and Aragorn looked down at him, wondering how he had missed the dwarf's arrival. He supposed it did not matter. He could leave Gimli to watch over Legolas, since the elf did not seem to want him there. He did not know if they would mend this rift, but at least he knew that Gimli would protect Legolas if the elf decided to do something foolish.

"I will return," Aragorn promised. Perhaps it was a warning. Legolas nodded, and Aragorn forced himself to leave. He could not fix this now, but he would when he returned.

* * *

><p>"Why did you force him away?"<p>

Legolas looked down at his hands. "I will tell you as I told him: he has other duties to see to. There are many more injured than I am, and there are other things as well. He cannot expect the people to be happy with him as king if he does not act as king. We both know he knows how to be that king, but he still believes he can act as he did before the throne was upon him. That is not true."

Gimli frowned at him. "You think he cannot be our friend now that he is a king?"

Legolas forced a smile. "I am the son of a king, Gimli. Do you think I fail to know the weight of that responsibility? I know that my father has told me several times that he is always my father, always there to be that father, but I know the reality of that is far from what he would prefer. He cannot always act as my father. Sometimes he must act like my king. It is the same for Estel now. He may want to act only as our friend, but he must act as a king."

Gimli nodded. "Aye, that's true, but when he's being a friend, when he can be, should we not allow him to be?"

"Do not think I have not." Legolas rose. He knew it would not seem like that when he had asked—told—Estel to go, but he also knew that he was trying to help him. It was best that he saw to others that needed him more, and Legolas' own temper was not good for company at present. He had spared them both what might become another rift. He did not want to argue, and he could not deny that it hurt to know that others had kept Varyar's survival from him. He knew why Firyavaryar would not tell him that he was alive—he knew his _gwador _would not forgive himself for the betrayal—but he did not know how to accept the others that had gone along with that decision. Nostalion he understood, the assassin's loyalty was to Varyar, no one else, and he knew that Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion would have followed Firyavaryar's decision, but Estel, Elladan, Elrohir, and undoubtedly others had all said nothing while Legolas grieved. The trees had tried to tell him, but he had been made to believe that was a lie.

He did not know how to feel about that, and he could not think, not here among the wounded, not with the sea longing pulling at his heart as well.

"You're sure this has nothing to do with that other pointy-eared devil?"

Legolas almost laughed. He did find Gimli's nickname for Varyar amusing, even if he should not. "I suppose it has some to do with him, but I am not angry with Estel. I am only trying to determine how I feel—while trying not to worry about Firyavaryar's failure to reappear since the battle. I know why he would not want to be close, but I know he lives. He cannot conceal that from me any longer. He could be here, and yet he is not."

"You think he fell in the battle? His body was not recovered."

"It would not have been. You have seen what the poison he carries is capable of, and it does not leave anything behind," Legolas reminded the dwarf. "If Varyar died, there would be no way to know of it, and that is very troubling to me. I cannot wish to hear that news again, and I fear this time, there would be no way to make me believe it."

"Last time you did."

"Because I saw Varyar fall, and no one should have survived that fall, not even one of the firstborn," Legolas explained. He did not know what had saved his friend, and he knew that Firyavaryar was not grateful to have survived, but Legolas was. He knew others must be as well. Even those who did not like him owed Varyar for what he had done during the battle at the black gate. "It should not have been possible."

"Yet he did."

"I would think it could not be too much to call it the will of the Valar, though it is strange that they would act for an Avari, one who did not have any desire to take the journey and lacked faith in them as well. He would not accept that as an answer, and even with Mithrandir's survival, it is difficult to believe that the circumstances were the same for Firyavaryar."

Gimli grunted. "Aye. It's difficult to see them sparing one like him, but you have to admit that he _was _useful, like those dead Aragorn called. If the dead can be of use, then why not your friend?"

"Because he should not have had to be a tool. He spent his entire life _running _from what other people were trying to make him into, from what they were trying to force him to be. He did not want to be a warrior and lead Ogol's armies as he had been supposedly bred to be, and he did not want to be someone who could be used against his friends or his family. All he ever wanted was peace, and I do not care if he did not believe in the Valar or choose the journey. He did not deserve to suffer because of it. He did not have to be their instrument, and that affliction he was given by Draugminaion—no one should have had to bear that. Why do that to anyone?"

Gimli shook his head. "I do not know. Frodo carried the ring, and it almost killed him, and he was the same, wasn't he? Maybe he wanted an adventure, but not _that _one. Even now, he may not recover. I don't know if anyone else could have done it, though. Certainly not a pointy-eared elf princeling like you. You'd have decided it was just as pretty as you think you are and kept the ring for yourself."

"And you, dwarf? What would _you _have done with the ring? Reclaimed Moria?" Legolas asked, but he knew when he was being teased. He let out a breath. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it was not so much a matter of deserving his burden but the fact that Varyar alone could have borne it as he did, that he alone could have used it and not become the monster that so many others would have been. The ring almost corrupted Frodo, and Varyar would have called himself corrupted, but he was not. He never became what Ogol wanted him to be, what Draugminaion tried to make him. Even at his worst, when he betrayed me, he did it in a way that saved as many others as he could. If he had given Ogol Estel..."

"It's for sure none of us would be standing here now," Gimli said. "None of this would have been possible without Aragorn."

"He is the king."

* * *

><p>"<em>He scares you?"<em>

_Sérëdhiel looked over at her brother, not amused. He had come up behind her so quietly as to startle her, and if anyone had frightened her lately, it was him, though she would not admit that. She had never seen Firyavaryar this dark before, and she spoke of so much more than the dark tongue that he used more often than he did Sindarin. "Who?"_

_Varyar smiled, amused in that twisted way that had replaced the almost carefree laughter of his youth. She would drag him back to Legolas, knowing somehow she would hear true laughter from him again if she did, but she knew Varyar would never allow himself to be seen by his old friend in this state. He touched a gloved hand to his short hair and grimaced._

"_You know who."_

_She shook her head. "I do not like the way that Nostalion looks at me—I do not like how much he knows—but he does not frighten me. Maybe once, when you first brought him home, but not now. He is... I see something there, underneath all that outward darkness, that is light and good and fragile, something he would hide from everyone... He is much like you."_

_Firyavaryar snorted. "Nostalion is an assassin, and with his tracking ability, he would be even better at his work than before. Me? I am a walking plague, and I bring only death to those around me. I have nothing good left in me, not now."_

_She reached for him, but he turned away from her. "Do you _want _to die, Sérëdhiel? There are less painful ways of doing so."_

"_What I want is my brother. I refuse to let you go, Firyavaryar. You have protected us all our lives, but I have healed us, and I will do it again."_

"_Would you fix Nostalion, too?"_

"_I do not want him to suffer. We can help him, and he should not have to go back to the ones who betrayed him."_

"_You are the one that is good," Varyar told her, letting his gloved hand brush against her cheek. "One day I fear there will be something you cannot mend, and I do not want you to suffer when it does. Not for me."_

_She wrapped both her hands around the glove. "There is already something here I cannot mend, but I love you, and I hope that is enough to keep you fighting this instead of letting it claim you. No, I know it will be. You always fight for us, and this is not any different from that. You will fight to stay with us because you know we need you."_

"_And if Nostalion needs you more?"_

"_I did not know you were a matchmaker."_

"_Me? Do not be absurd. I am no such thing. I am also not blind. You see something in him, and that means you have already started to accept him. Whether that is as my ally or my friend or even as family remains to be seen."_

Sérëdhiel was aware of Nostalion's presence before she saw him, a sensation she had come to recognize in the time that she had known him, her own senses made keener as she passed time in his company. She knew the way it felt when his eyes fell on her, knew the slight shift of them when his affection for her replaced the wariness, letting him lower his guard for a moment, though he always watched for a threat. Always.

"Nostalion," she said, running the last few steps toward him. She let him embrace her, taking both comfort and knowledge from his hold. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath. "It is bad, then."

"He has not woken since I pulled him from the battle."

She tried to conceal her flinch, not wanting Idhrenion to see it and worry as she did, though her younger brother was no fool, either. He would know how poor Firyavaryar's state was as soon as he saw him. "Show me."

Nostalion led her and the others to where he had secured her brother, and this time she could not control her reaction. She fell beside him, needing to be closer to hear his soft breathing, unable to rely on her elven hearing alone. "Varyar."

"Strange elf," Lothanlass said, and Sérëdhiel would not have thought an _onod _could sound so grieved, but he did. His branches creaked as he bent near to them.

"Is he... dead?" Idhrenion asked. "I should be able to hear him, but I do not. I... Sérëdhiel, he _is _breathing—tell me that he is breathing."

"He is, but he is very weak. What happened?"

Nostalion grunted. "I believe he was injured before he attempted his stunt—I should not say it—he was successful, and its effects were dramatic, if not spectacular."

"It is Firyavaryar," Idhrenion said, managing a small smile despite his fear. "It is always spectacular."

Nostalion gave him a look. Sérëdhiel shook her head. They did not need to fight now. "What did he do?"

"He cut his hand and used the poison to tip arrows," Nostalion explained. "Elrohir, Legolas, and I all fired multiple arrows into the ground, causing it to swallow up the armies of Sauron."

Sérëdhiel lowered her head. If Varyar had been bleeding, he would have been weakened, and if he had tried to keep that blood from spilling close to his friends, the only way to do it would be to cover over the wound with his own hand. He would have poisoned himself further. That explained his condition.

"I suppose he would want to die," Idhrenion said, kneeling beside Varyar. "He would say he had done his part at last, that he had done as much as he could for redemption, and we should let him go."

She looked over at her brother. She knew that Idhrenion's words were true, but she refused to accept them. "No."

Nostalion touched her shoulder. "You know what he would want. Idhrenion is correct."

"No."

"The prophecy said that the king had healing hands," Eruaistaniel said, and Sérëdhiel nodded. She did remember that, though she did not know that it would help if he needed to _touch _Firyavaryar to heal him. "The one Varyar called _echil _should be king by now, and even if that cure could not be found in Greenwood, perhaps it does exist now."

"We must take strange elf to the king," Lothanlass said, reaching over to lift him into his branches. "I will carry him. He will not die."

* * *

><p>"I've seen strange sights before, laddie, but not much like that one," Gimli said, watching the procession that made its way into the halls of healing. He had not seen the living trees for very long, not even during their visit to Isengard, but even if he had, he would have found the one moving about Minas Tirith an unnatural sight. Indeed, so unnatural was its presence that it gained entry to the city without much protest—no one knew how to refuse such a being, and even though the hobbits did not know this one—Lothanlass—by name, those that were about had quickly risen to the creature's defense and demanded it be let in the gates they were still repairing.<p>

Then again, they did not need to speak for the ent when a certain daft elf ran down to the city gate, heedless of his own wounds, and welcomed the party with the ent into the city.

They should have been kept out, Gimli thought, for he knew one was a very dangerous creature—or so they had said—another a betrayer, and though these last few were strangers, they traveled with ones he did not trust. He did not care if that one devil might have helped them in the battle. He did not like those elves. They were not like Legolas.

Even if Legolas called them friends.

"Strange, but not unwelcome," Aragorn said, and Gimli looked back at him with a frown. The man smiled. "I am glad you sent for me. I do not think you need fear Firyavaryar's arrival, for it is what will comfort Legolas the most and ease his fears. He needs to know his friend's fate, needs to see it with his own eyes."

"Does he now?" Gimli asked, shaking his head. "Can there be value in seeing that?"

Aragorn's eyes went back to the ent, this time seeing the burden the tree carried in its gnarled branches. The bundle was too small, or so it seemed to Gimli, not the right size at all for an elf, but he had seen those clothes before, and he knew the elf that had worn them, the betrayer that Legolas still called friend. "Damn."

"Exactly," Gimli said, grunting. "I don't think that elf is going to live, Aragorn—and that is if he is even alive at all."

"They would not bring him here to bury," Aragorn said, already moving. He headed toward the group, leaving Gimli no choice but to put his natural sprinting to use as he ran after the man and joined the others.

"You travel in strange company," Aragorn observed as he reached the procession.

"By that do you mean my brother or the ent?" The female elf asked, facing the new king without fear, her own presence reminding Gimli of the Lady, of she who had no equal. This was not Galadriel, but he thought she must come from a similar line, being that compelling though far from that beautiful.

"The ent," Aragorn told her with a smile. "I have other names for your brother's company."

"Lothanlass calls him strange elf," the elf-maiden said, almost smiling. "I suppose it is almost fitting to consider him strange company, though I fear he will not be that for much longer."

Another elf-maiden darted forward from the back of their group, touching Aragorn's arm. "You are a king now? Is that prophecy true? The one about... healing?"

Gimli grimaced. He had seen that skill work, bringing back some who should have had no hope of recovery—Merry the hobbit and Éowyn of Rohan, both wounded by the Witch King, and also Frodo, nearly killed by his ordeal with the ring. He did not know that it could—or should—aid this one.

"Yes," Aragorn said, looking to Legolas before addressing the female again. "You would ask me to heal Firyavaryar?"

"I am not certain that you can—I remember hearing that it was the hands of the king that healed, and you cannot touch my brother," the first elf-maiden said, moving forward to tug at her companion, prying her off of Aragorn. "If I thought that you could do this, I would not _ask. _I would demand. I would scream and shout and put my own blade to your throat to make you comply—though I would not have to move for someone else would make the threat first."

Aragorn glanced toward the assassin, who glowered but did not contradict her words. The king nodded. "I have no doubt that it would be so. I would not think you would want my help—"

"I would not ask anything of you," Nostalion said, his voice cold. "We waste what time Varyar has left in coming here."

"Do not say that, cousin. Please," the other elf-maiden begged, and a third she-elf came to her side.

"Come, Eruaistaniel," the other elf said, leading her back to where another dark-haired elf stood, a baby in his arms. Gimli had never seen an elf child before—he knew some said they did not have them at all—and he found himself staring at it.

"I do not know that anything can be done for my brother now," the first elf-maiden said, lifting her head and looking straight at Aragorn. "He is succumbing to his injuries and the poison he carries, and perhaps all that he can have is the comfort of a bed. I do not know, but we all agreed to try rather than do nothing. If you will aid us, then do so. If you will not, then say so. Nostalion is correct—we will not waste the time that Varyar has left."

"You will not waste it at all, Sérëdhiel," Legolas insisted. He looked up at the tree, starting in on a low melody that had everyone stopping to listen. The sound was not unlike the one Gimli had heard given in lament for Gandalf, and had it gone on, perhaps it would have led to tears, but it ended, abrupt and discordant. "He was supposed to wake and tell me how poor my singing was."

Sérëdhiel shook her head. "He always said yours was better than his, and I would like to hear him say so now, but he has not stirred, not for anyone or anything. If we cannot do something for him here, now, then this is the end."


	29. A Cure that Causes More Poison

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter Twenty-Nine<br>Word Count:** 5,124**  
><strong>****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: ****Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> I always meant to go back to the issue raised in chapter nine, but I didn't realize it would take me twenty chapters to do it. I was rather optimistic about things, had no idea just how much it would take to tell the story around the story Tolkien created, and I had no way of knowing all the obstacles that would come up in my personal life to steal inspiration and make this seem impossible to finish. It isn't, in fact, it looks like it will be a nice even thirty chapters (well, perhaps the last one is an epilogue?) but I'm not going to make any promises there, even if I have kind of known the end for a long time, too. It was one of the few scenes that made this story happen in the first place.

That said, I'm a bit worried about the fallout from all of this...

* * *

><p><strong>A Cure that Causes More Poison<br>**

"He still has not stirred?" Aragorn asked, returning to the sick bed. They had given Firyavaryar a room of his own, one near the courtyard so that the ent that had apparently claimed him could be able to watch over him without being forced into a space too small for him.

"No, he has not, and I do not think he will," Sérëdhiel answered. She folded her hands together and lowered her head. She seemed weary, but that was not unexpected under the circumstances. He had seen her brother when he was brought in, looking smaller than any elf should in the arms of the ent. Firyavaryar did seem to be fading, despite his claim that he could not do so. Aragorn did not know if there was anything that these houses could do for him, a fact he did not want to share with Legolas, though it was far from a secret. The regular healers of the house, joined by Elrohir and Elladan, had concluded what Sérëdhiel already knew: they could do nothing for her brother.

Aragorn did not know if that was why the others were gone—perhaps she had ordered them away to spare Idhrenion the sight of his older brother dying, to keep Thenidriel and Alassë from seeing it as well. He thought it was strange that of all of them, only Eruaistaniel remained other than Sérëdhiel, fragile as she seemed to be, having flinched at Sérëdhiel's words, quiet tears on her face, her body tense with sobs that she did not let quake her.

"He might not," Aragorn agreed with reluctance. Not long ago, they had discussed how losing Firyavaryar a second time would affect Legolas, and all Aragorn knew was that he did not want to see it happen. "I was told that you asked for me."

She laughed. "Asked for you? I would not call shouting and demanding _asking."_

Aragorn smiled, though only for a moment. His duties as king had pulled him away from Firyavaryar and the others while he was settled and seen to by all the other healers. Perhaps it had wasted time, but Aragorn would not claim to be the only one capable of healing Firyavaryar. He did not even know that he _was _capable of it. He did not think he was. Still, despite that, he had been told of her supposed rudeness and her demands, assuming many of those complaints to be exaggerations. Even if they were not, her desperation was understandable. Her brother was near death, and no ordinary healer could aid him—if they could have, she would already have done it. He had heard that she was skilled in that respect, and he did not doubt the word of his brothers or his _ada. _They had come here for Aragorn's aid, and he wished he had it to give.

"You should not smile. I should not have had to demand it. You knew why we were here, yet you gave us over to those who cannot help," Sérëdhiel said, watching him with a bleakness in her eyes that even Éowyn had not shown when Aragorn forbid her to come with them. He almost grimaced. "Prophecy says you have the hands of a healer. I understand your reluctance to use them for my brother, given the nature of his affliction, but you are the only one we can ask now. If you did not intend to do anything for him, you should have told us when we came. We do not stay where we are not wanted, and Firyavaryar would not want to be here."

Aragorn felt the censure of her words. He glanced at his hands and then met her eyes. "It may be that I can heal. I have aided those who should not have recovered, but I do not know that I can assist your brother. He is fading, and that is, I understand, a choice."

"He is not _fading," _she snapped, her eyes darkening like her brothers would have done. "He is succumbing to the poison he carries. That is different. As much as Varyar hates the way he has to live, as much guilt as he carries for what he has done, as much as he despises himself, he would not abandon us. He would _never _fade, not after what happened to our parents."

"You speak much of things you know nothing of," Eruaistaniel added, not bothering to wipe away any of her tears as she spoke. "This is the elf that taught me that I could live in spite of what the _edain _had done to me, who gave me hope in the bitterest, darkest time of my life. He already carried a plague, and yet he found a way to help me _want _to live again. You know _nothing _of him. He is not fading. He dies, but not by choice. Oh, I know it would be a relief to be free of the pain and the burden he suffers, but he is too loyal to die. If he were fading, it would already have passed. He is still _fighting, _you fool, and you stand there denying his strength when that is all that keeps him alive. You are the coward, not him, and had I any skill with the blade, I would challenge you myself for that offense."

"I myself would be tempted to take up that cause, Estel," Legolas said, joining them. Eruaistaniel lost her boldness for a moment, and Aragorn almost joined her in doing so. He had betrayed his friend again, always assuming the worst of one Legolas called _gwador._ "I do not expect you ever to feel the same sort of affection for him as I have, even though you are both _gwedeir _to me. Still, you cannot call this cowardice. Stubbornness, yes, and other things I do not think we can comprehend, but not cowardice. Varyar does not fear death. If he sought it, he could have had it. I believe Eruaistaniel is right—he is fighting _against _that. I hope, dear lady, that you are a part of that cause."

She flushed, shaking her head. "I do not see how any sort of affection from me can aid matters when he cannot touch anyone. It is not a reason to live, not if he cannot touch me, and it assumes much to think he would _want _to."

"Legolas," Sérëdhiel began, but as she did, she flinched. "I should tell you that I am sorry—"

"Do not apologize. I know why he asked you not to tell me he lived, and while it is difficult, I have always understood that your family's loyalty was to each other first," Legolas told her. He looked toward Aragorn. "It has been difficult to determine what I feel about these events—relief that Varyar lives, anger that I did not know of it, the pain of it all—"

"He did not want to betray you. He tried so long to avoid it, to prevent it, but he could not. All he has done since he fell was seek a way to atone for it, but he would not face you until he had," she said, glancing toward her brother, turning back to Legolas with what might have been tears in her eyes. "I did not like deceiving you. I never have."

"He was forgiven long before, and I wish he would have accepted that," Legolas told her, receiving a sad smile in return. He looked to Aragorn. "I will not ask you to put your own life at risk, and I will not take Gondor's king from her, but I cannot do other than ask—Can you help him? _Will _you?"

"I believe he can, though it will take great skill and great care," Gandalf said, startling all of them. Aragorn did not want to admit to just how much relief he felt at the wizard's arrival. He did not know how he would have answered that question, and he did not like himself for it. Surely he should have been willing to risk it without hesitation—how many other times had he done that during this war? Was he still condemning Firyavaryar for his betrayal? Was that why he would not act as he might have for someone else? "Let young Thranduilion have time with his friends, and we shall discuss it."

Aragorn nodded, though he found himself wondering where Gandalf had been and how he knew what to do to help—if anything could. He needed to touch someone to heal them, to whisper words that he did not think would save someone like Firyavaryar. He could not say. He felt the limits of his own abilities, and he did not know what it would mean if he failed to heal Firyavaryar. Would it cost him his friendship with Legolas forever? He had not yet been able to mend all that had gone wrong with Legolas—and he did not not think that Sérëdhiel had done so, either. Legolas was not even truly acknowledging the problem, and Aragorn did not believe he would. He could hide it now, with everyone's worries over Firyavaryar, and it wasn't likely that he'd bring it up later. It would be forgotten and covered over, even if it was not resolved.

Not that Aragorn would allow that. He would fix things, he vowed, before he crossed the room to join Gandalf. The wizard led him into the hall, leaving Aragorn to frown in response. Was he thinking that Aragorn should not hear what Legolas might say to his ailing friend? Or was it something that Legolas thought _Eruaistaniel _should say that Aragorn could not hear? He supposed that it would be easier for her to say what should be said without him, but he still did not understand Gandalf's behavior.

He found a place against the wall to rest and glanced back at the door. Why had they not brought Sérëdhiel into this discussion? "I do not know that there is anything I can do unless I touch him, and he warned me repeatedly not to. I want to help, but I cannot die now, not after all we have done."

"Indeed, now would be a poor time to die," Gandalf agreed with amusement. He smiled, shaking his head. "No, Aragorn, that is not to be your fate. You are not meant to die healing anyone."

"You have reason for this confidence?"

"I believe this will give that to you." Gandalf handed him a parchment, and Aragorn unfolded it, looking at the unfamiliar language and the words on the bottom of it. "I have consulted experts for its translation, though I think one other might be necessary."

"Nostalion," Aragorn said, an unpleasant feeling accompanying that realization. He lowered the page, looking up at the Istari with a frown. He knew what he held in his hand, and he thought perhaps he had been punishing the wrong betrayer all along. "This is Ogol's cure, isn't it? Or Draugminaion's? This could have healed Firyavaryar months ago?"

"I believe so, yes."

"And you withheld this from him knowing what it was?"

Gandalf grimaced. "There are many paths that must be taken without knowing their end or what might be needed upon the way—"

"You damned Istari. I do not care if you claim to be doing the will of the Valar," Sérëdhiel said, dangerous anger in her voice as she approached them. "You cannot excuse this. _You _are the monster, not my brother."

* * *

><p>Sérëdhiel had known rage few times in her life. She knew fear more, being the one who stayed when the others left, being the one who healed and not the one who fought, left behind to worry as the others took the risks, knowing she would be needed but not knowing if her skills would be enough to save those she loved. She had known grief, a paralyzing thing that had left her unable to act until Firyavaryar somehow found her and Idhrenion and led them away from their father's body after he faded, knowing that their mother had died but not how or why, things Varyar could not speak of even now. She had known happiness in Greenwood when they found peace for a time, when they called Legolas <em>gwador, <em>but her rage had been stirred by only three people before today: Ogol, Draugminaion, and Melgur.

She had never thought she would list Mithrandir among those who had enraged her, but now she did. Now she knew that they were only what Varyar hated the most—pawns caught in someone else's game, manipulated and used, only this time by someone they had trusted. Nostalion had not accepted the wizard as the rest of them had, and he had been right.

She felt sick, knowing what she did.

"It was not Firyavaryar's time to shed that burden. You know this, Aragorn. You saw it in battle."

The ranger shook his head. "I think there could have been other ways—we do not even know that it was not the destruction of the ring that caused the collapse. From what Legolas says, Firyavaryar was a skilled warrior without the poison. He didn't fight armed because with that plague he did not need to, but he could still have helped if he'd been able to take that cure."

"Why do you speak to convince _him?" _Sérëdhiel demanded. "Should you not think to seek _my _acceptance? I assure you, I will give you no approval, no acquiescence, but you should argue to convince _me, _not him."

"I spoke to Aragorn because he saw what your brother is capable of, what he was needed for, the role he had yet to play—"

"No," she snapped. Had she a blade, she would have used it against Mithrandir, wizard or not. "Do not say he had some part to play. I do not care if that battle could not have been won without him—and I do not even know that is true, for all say it was the destruction of the ring and naught to do with my brother that made that possible. Do you know what you took from him when you hid that cure? You committed a crime that Ogol and Draugminaion never managed to do—you stole his spirit. He had done what he never wanted to do—betrayed Legolas—and he had lived after that to face a life where he was condemned by guilt and trapped in a body full of poison but he was too damned loyal to leave his family or his friends. He was miserable, and there was no release from it, for you took that from him. You used him, used _all _of us, and I will not forgive you for it."

"Sérëdhiel, you must—"

"I must do nothing," she said, resolute. She was not going to listen to the Istari, would not be appeased by him. She grabbed the paper from the ranger's hand, only just stopping herself from crushing it in her fingers. "This is all I want from you, from _any _of you. We will not stay, and you will not follow us. You used us before, but you will _never _do so again."

"Wait," the ranger said. He swallowed. "We do not know how effective that cure will be on your brother—it may only have saved one infected from the outside, as Ogol was, but it may help to have me be a part of creating it."

She hesitated. She did not want to accept anything from them, but she had heard him—he had seemed genuinely upset when he learned what Mithrandir had withheld from them—and she knew that Legolas trusted him even though he hated Firyavaryar. She did not know if this would be enough to save her brother, and if she needed the healing hands of a king, then she would use them.

"Very well," she said, about to tell him to find her husband when she became aware of him in the other room. "We will ask Nostalion to read this and then gather what is necessary. And we will _not _be disturbed."

The _echil _followed her as she started for her brother's bedside. "What will you tell Legolas?"

"The truth."

* * *

><p><em>Firyavaryar lifted his head. Though it was still dark, he did not feel as weak as he had for most of his unwilling stay in this hole. He did not even know if the hole was a hole—he saw nothing outside it, not even when Draugminaion was experimenting upon him—he knew only pain and darkness, and he could not say that the time that felt like centuries was more than days or even hours. He should be dead, but he understood death to be a mercy that he would never receive, not at Ogol's hands or at Draugminaion's.<em>

_The unfortunate truth was that he was recovering, if such a thing could be said of someone in his condition. He could say with near certainty that Draugminaion had achieved his goal—he had found the level of poison that Varyar's elven healing could withstand without leaving him weak and feverish._

_He was balanced, for the first time in years, he was balanced. The poison was halted in its progress enough to where it would not kill him even if Draugminaion did not intervene. He no longer needed the monster to prevent death._

_He _was _death._

_He was a weapon. He knew that now. He was death in the flesh. Everything he touched died, everything that his skin made contact with was corrupted, ruined if not completely destroyed. He was a plague. He knew this._

_He did not know why Ogol had let it happen. Perhaps he wanted a weapon, but he had always insisted on making Firyavaryar into one in his own way, wanting his "beautiful" army. Years in the dark, with few glimpses of himself outside of delirium—what he saw in those times was suspect because there should not have been light to see anything—did not tell him how he now appeared, but he doubted that he still met the standard that he had been bred to, the standard Ogol had wanted._

_Ogol should have stopped this, but he had not. Perhaps he wanted this, wanted a living weapon, but Varyar did not know why he would want one he could not touch. He had been so fond of having his pet at his side, at his feet, and now he could not have it._

_Firyavaryar was too dangerous for that. He smiled to himself as he moved toward the wall. He did not know where the door was, but he did not need a door, not anymore. He had been held more by his own body's weakness than this room, and that was going to end. Now._

_First, though, he had someone to find._

_Draugminaion had only been foolish enough to leave him and Nostalion in the same space once, and because of that particular escape attempt, Nostalion bore a scar and Firyavaryar had what felt like a decade missing from his memory, lost to a fever he swore he still felt sometimes, but then he was poison._

_He stumbled through the halls, unable to see where he was going, but he still knew the difference between the smell of an orc and an elf, so he did not care when he heard shrieks as he passed by other inhabitants of this dungeon. He did not care if they lived or died, though a part of him thought he should want revenge after all that they had done to him in helping Draugminaion's experimentation, but he wanted nothing more than to leave._

_He stopped at the edge of a room, leaning against the wall. "Perhaps it does not matter. Perhaps I should just let this whole place crumble into nothing."_

"_You are boasting again," Nostalion said, and Varyar smiled as he heard the other elf's disgruntled voice. "I suppose you came for another ill-advised escape attempt?"_

"_This will not be an attempt. I am no longer limited by the weakness of my body. The fool accomplished what he wanted, but in doing so, he made escape—and death—possible."_

"_What?"_

"_I am a walking plague," Varyar reminded him. "What I touch, I kill, only now it is not able to kill me. I am not succumbing to the poison myself. No, I _am, _but only because I have used it on too many others and cut myself on too many stones along the way, but I was fine when I woke, and I am still standing. We can do this, Nostalion. We can free ourselves and leave this place as a ruin."_

"_I should not listen to you. You are always raising false hopes."_

_Firyavaryar snorted. "You are an assassin. You do not hope. You follow me because I am willing to fight to my death to get to my family. I have never stopped trying to escape. Sometimes I was less capable of it than I thought I was, but I assure you, this is not one of those times. I have left death and destruction behind me, and you may have nothing to fight. I know that will disappoint you, but come with me anyway."_

"_Why should I? Are you not the one who constantly tells me that my family only used me and that it is not worth returning to them?"_

"_I will not deny that I still believe it is not, but why stay here, _gwador?" _Varyar asked. "If nothing else, there is revenge in our escape, and that is worth it."_

"_Are you feverish again?"_

_Firyavaryar frowned. "Perhaps. I do not know. Why?"_

"_You called me _gwador."

"_Did I?" Varyar rubbed his head. It ached, and he did not remember much of what had happened since he rose from the cold floor of his own prison chamber. "I suppose that means now I _have_ to free you. I cannot abandon family."_

* * *

><p>"There," Seredhiel said, watching the door close behind Estel. "It is time."<p>

"Time?" Legolas asked with a frown. He knew—or at least he supposed that she would want to watch over her brother on her own, to spare the others pain if Varyar failed to recover, to spare him any embarrassment that might come of his illness, but Legolas did not want to leave. His place was with his friend, and he had been denied that for to long already.

"We must go, Legolas."

"You cannot, not when you have only just begun treatment for Firyavaryar," he objected, shaking his head. "I do not understand why you cannot stay in one place for more than a day or two—what is there to fear this time? Ogol is dead. Sauron is defeated. I already know that Varyar lives, so you do not need to hide that from me, and I already forgave him, so you need not fear that anyone should harm him, not now, not when Firyavaryar needs aid and you are welcome—"

"We are not welcome," Sérëdhiel said. She sighed, looking down at her hands. "I know you do not understand that—you have always made friends and allies with such ease that you do not understand what it is to struggle for a place, but even were that true, were we to feel welcome, we could not remain."

"This is not about your conference with Éowyn, is it? I thought her spirits were much improved and you two had a good conversation this time," Legolas said, frowning. He did not understand. He knew that the lady of Rohan had come to speak to Sérëdhiel, and he had been glad of it, for he thought it helped both of them, but perhaps he was wrong.

"I believe a great weight has lifted from her heart, and I am glad of it for her sake, but it has not gone from mine," Sérëdhiel told him. She reached over to pull Varyar's blanket over him. When she returned her eyes to Legolas, her face was full of sadness. "You should know that this cure was not the work of the king's hands alone. This was taken from Ogol's dominion, and I do not know if it was created by him or Draugminaion, but it would seem that Mithrandir has had it for some time now. I cannot say if he had it from the first, when Firyavaryar survived what he should not, but I do know that he kept it from us even as he manipulated my brother into going after you on your foolish quests. He could have had all he wanted, I fear, for that cure—we would have given it—but all he had to do was use Varyar's loyalty to you, and he did. More than once."

Legolas grimaced. "I do not understand. That cannot be right. It is not—I know your brother would do anything for me—anything that would not hurt you or Idhrenion, that is—but I have known Mithrandir almost as long as I have known you, and I do not like to think he would do this."

"Nor do I." Sérëdhiel glanced toward her husband before she spoke again. "I do not know that Mithrandir feels no regret. From what he said, he feels he made the choice that had to be made. He may take what comfort he can from that kind of knowledge, even if there is little to be had, as we have all had to do in the past, but that does not make it easier to accept or forgive."

"I should have killed the wizard long ago," Nostalion muttered, and Legolas knew that opinion was not likely to change. "And it is not just the wizard that would experience my wrath. I will not pretend to enjoy being indebted—and that debt is to the _echil, _I will never acknowledge the one the wizard would claim—I do not blame the new king for what the wizard did, but I will not pretend that we have been done a favor when what was done was a crime. The _echil's_ actions do not set it right, and I despise knowing that Varyar will still feel guilt over his actions—yet others will feel none."

Sérëdhiel winced. She looked back at Legolas. "That is why we must go, Legolas. It is not because I would deny you our company or hide from you, but I also know you as well as I do my brother. Your loyalty is to the lord of the white tree. You will remain here, and you will aid him in beginning this new age for Middle Earth. We, however, will not."

"Sérëdhiel—"

"No. You do not understand. Mithrandir's actions are like a poison. I know of his value and his service, and I know how he is looked to as a mentor. I know he will be needed now. Yet the _thought _of him makes me angry—bitter in such a way that I would have done him harm if I could have—and that is like a poison festering, growing more evil as it lingers, corrupting what it touches until it would not be only Mithrandir that I hated. It would be all that listened to him. It would be those hobbits. The dwarf. Your friend, the king. Even you."

"I do not—"

"This time we must go for forgiveness' sake," she said. "It is not fear that forces us to go, but love. I love you as my _gwador_ too much to let my own bitterness turn me against you, but I believe if I stayed where Mithrandir was—if _any _of us did—that would be inevitable. You all think me so good, but in truth... I am my brother's sister, and my logic does not always follow reason, not when it comes to him or Idhrenion."

Legolas nodded. He thought he could almost understand what she was saying and _why _she said it, but he did not know how to accept that, either. "I still have not been able to find balance after learning that Varyar was alive and that you all kept that fact from me, but I have not abandoned anyone or asked them to leave."

"You are different. You are far more willing to forgive. We Avari... We are not."

He sighed. "You do not know that Varyar will recover. He may need more treatment. You should not take him now. This cannot be good for him. I do not think you should go, not yet."

"Not ever, you mean," Nostalion said, and Legolas could not deny the truth of the assassin's words. The other elf shook his head, and Legolas wondered if it would have been worth having Estel try to heal that scar on his face. "You are his friend. You know how he would feel to wake up in a place like this, with a debt to your _echil _and the treachery of the wizard to greet him."

Firyavaryar would hate _all _of that. Legolas knew that. He should let them take him away for those reasons alone. He did not want to do that. "Do not leave until you have some sign that he will recover. Please. Do not leave me without that much hope, even if it is only a _gildin."_

Sérëdhiel grimaced. "That is not as amusing as it should be, not after what Mithrandir did, but... We will wait until we know he is recovering."

"I am glad," Legolas told her, smiling. "This bitterness, too, will pass, Sérëdhiel."

"Unlikely."

"Firyavaryar?"

The response his friend gave was in the black speech, unintelligible to everyone except perhaps Nostalion, but having it come at all was a relief to all that were present. Legolas saw Nostalion smile, drawing close to Sérëdhiel. She put her hand over his and smiled down at her brother with love. Varyar had spoken. That was more than a mere _gildin. _Legolas felt certain that this meant he would recover. He would have to tell Estel that his healing hands had worked once again.

That would wait, though. He knew they would still go as soon as they could—this would give them more encouragement to leave—and so he would remain where he was, spending as much time with his friends as he could, unwilling to let them leave with only a note this time.

* * *

><p>Yet, when his eyes opened from a slumber he did not remember submitting to, he found a small note folded into his hand.<p>

_You spend too much time with that dwarf. He has taught you to snore as badly as Idhrenion does._

_I will not ask you to forgive me, though I expect you likely will, you great fool, but I will say that there was little that could have kept me from killing the wizard after I learned of his choice, even as weak as I seem to be now. It would have been his life or mine, if not for Sérëdhiel's plea. She begged for us to leave, and so we have left._

_I know you long for the sea, but you will see me before you see it, that I swear, _gwador.


	30. The Kind of Day to Leave Myself Behind

**Forever Afternoon  
>Chapter ThirtyEpilogue  
>Word Count:<strong> 4,924**  
>RatingDisclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
>Author's Note:<strong> So... this has finally reached the end. It's not what I thought I'd have when I started down this path, even though it does include the part I envisioned for the end long before I wrote it. I just didn't expect this to be what it was. I told myself when I started that I wasn't going to write just Varyar's story alone, and despite that, this _is _his story. It shows its bias, it always has, and back in chapter thirteen, when I considered walking away from it, I did it in part because I knew I couldn't hope to balance Varyar's part of the plot and my affection for him as a character with the others that belonged to this world and do justice to anyone but him. So... he got his justice. No one else did, though I tried to give it to them. I failed. I admit that.

The thing is, though, when I think of it as Varyar's story, I know this is the way it had to be, even with all its flaws. He would have had it no different.

The title for this final part is from the song that helped start this fic: _Tuesday Afternoon (Forever Afternoon,) _by the Moody Blues.

* * *

><p><strong>Just the Kind of Day to Leave Myself Behind<strong>

"You are a fine king, you know. You do not have to worry constantly that you are not."

Aragorn turned back to face his friend, not bothering to ask how Legolas knew what he was thinking. He was not so hard to know, not anymore, not since he became king. He found his mind preoccupied with many things, but all of them could be considered the same worry, the concerns of a king. He smiled, amused by the statement. "And what would you know of fine kings?"

"I have lived centuries with one, or have you forgotten?" Legolas asked, inclining his head, waiting with a pointed look for as long as he could before he started laughing. Aragorn smiled in turn, grateful for this time here in Ithilien, away from the cares and concerns that plagued him within the walls of Minas Tirith. The responsibilities of a king were always upon him, never gone, only sometimes relieved for a time. He felt them even now, but he tried to tell himself that he could have some peace here in Ithilien. This was the land of Faramir, the steward, a land that he had opened up to many, including the elves, and it stood as a sign of peace and fellowship between the two races.

"I suppose I did. Gimli isn't here to call you a spoiled pointy-eared princeling."

Legolas laughed. "Oh, he will be soon enough, I suppose. He never wanders too far, lacking the affection I have for this land. He keeps calling it a stinky bog."

"And have you told him what you think of his glittering caves?"

"No. I have no interest in starting another feud between dwarves and elves," Legolas answered, and Aragorn laughed. He knew that his friend was exaggerating. He did not think, for all their bickering, that Gimli or Legolas could ever stay mad at each other. They fought, not because they disliked each other, but because it was a part of the very friendship they shared.

"I do not think that is likely to happen. You have done much to undo that old hatred, and I think you may yet prove to be the one that creates lasting peace between your people and theirs."

Legolas shook his head. "Do not give me undue credit. I am not that great a diplomat. I have made one friend of a dwarf, and I am not certain I could make friends of more. I did not start this feud between our peoples, and some elves have too long a memory for details that dwarves supposedly forgot. We see too much in our long lives. We do not forget enough of it, either."

Aragorn studied him. "That is an interesting thought. I never thought you would be one to claim that it was the elves and not the dwarves that kept the old grudges going. Elves are supposedly more peaceful than that, more wise, more—"

"I hold that any elf can be just as stubborn as a dwarf if not more so. Indeed, it seems only true to state that we _are _more so, since we outlive the dwarves by centuries."

Aragorn nodded. That much was also true, and he would have laughed, but he sensed something under those words that had nothing to do with dwarves at all. "He still hasn't come, has he?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, and while I know it is almost too soon for it, I suppose I hoped for too much. We have been given so many blessings, won victories that we did not think we would, and those we love—most of them survived this dark time. There is peace. There is happiness. We are rebuilding. It makes us all believe that the impossible is possible."

"You think that Firyavaryar coming here is impossible?"

"No," Legolas answered with a slight smile. "I do not think it is impossible, nor do I doubt the words that were left behind—he swore I would see him again before I saw the sea. I do not doubt that I will—Varyar does not make promises he feels he cannot keep—but the time between now and when I sail is great indeed, and I may have to wait much longer than I wanted to wait. I was starting to think that I would see him before I saw you, though."

Aragorn frowned. "What? You could have come to Minas Tirith at any time and seen me. It's not like I ran off to places where even Istari and Galadriel cannot track me."

Legolas nodded. "Indeed, you did not, but you were no more available to me than any of them were. You have been too busy to see much of anyone, even your own family."

Aragorn winced, but he shook his head with determination. "That will change. I will not ignore my kingdom, but I am here to spend my time with my friends and not let anything come between them—my family—and me, not now."

The elf smiled. "That is good to hear, Estel, for I have found something I think you will be interested in seeing. Come."

* * *

><p>"There is a marked difference between slight hope and none at all, even more so between delayed hope and none at all," Firyavaryar observed, looking down at the wizard. The old man did not spook, not as he would have preferred, but he doubted that Lothanlass had been as still a tree as he needed to be to make a true ambush possible.<p>

"Indeed, there is, and it is vast sometimes."

"I should tell you that I have not forgiven you," Varyar said, letting himself remain in his tree for a moment longer. Any threat to him would affect the _onod, _and he knew that Mithrandir would not harm the ent for Firyavaryar's actions.

"I did not expect that you would."

Varyar nodded. "You should not have. Whatever excuses you found to justify your actions become hollow when you consider them for as long as I have, and I have found the whole matter impossible to ignore since we departed from the house of healing. My sister was right in thinking that our anger would poison us against all there, and you must thank her for staying not only my hand but those of others."

"Your friend the assassin has sought my end before for perceived slights against you. I knew of the risk when I concealed what I had found."

Firyavaryar laughed. "You think that you angered only him and me? No, do not be such a great fool, Mithrandir. Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and the others were roused to great ire when they learned of what you had done. Even Eruaistaniel, the one most would claim the weakest, most timid member of our group, she would have harmed you for what you chose to do."

The Istari nodded. He wrapped his arms around his new staff, and Firyavaryar did not miss the warning in it. He had not fooled himself into thinking that he could have fought against the Maia, not truly, and without a plague beneath his skin, he was at a greater disadvantage, so the warning was unnecessary. He did not intend to fight.

He might be provoked into it, but he was not planning on it.

"You came for a reason, and it was not to tell me that I was forgiven," Mithrandir prompted. "You say I am not, so why did you come?"

"I suppose I am uncertain of that myself," Firyavaryar told him, sliding down from the _onod's _branch. He faced the wizard and drew in a breath before he spoke. "I have, I think, determined why I am so angry and why I find it difficult now to find room for forgiveness. It is not so much that you concealed the cure from me as much as you denied me the opportunity to chose my own path."

"You were needed to follow the one you were on."

"Indeed, perhaps I was, but you assumed that I would have taken the cure the moment that I found it, and you are wrong in doing so."

The Istari frowned. "You would not have taken it? Why not? After centuries of suffering, you should have been glad of it, and it would have seemed a reason for your survival, one you thought you did not want with it."

Firyavaryar glared at the wizard, shaking his head. "You _are _a fool. Do you truly understand _nothing _of me after all this time? What has my life been but sacrifice? What have I known but denial and pain and torture? I have fled from friendship and endured torment—I have let the blood stain my hands so that it stains no one else's, I have given away things most dear to me in order to save others, and you would stand there and tell me I would be so selfish as to take that cure immediately? I do not care how long I had suffered under the plague. I was a weapon, but I knew how to use it to protect those that I loved, and I would have gone on doing so. I would not have stopped, not when I felt it was needed. That is your true mistake, wizard. You assumed you knew what you did not, and you denied me a choice when I believe I would have made the one you wanted."

Mithrandir let out a breath. "Perhaps you would have. Perhaps I feared too much that you would not, and I cannot change what I have done."

"Nor do you apologize for it."

"I did what I felt must be done. You were needed in that final battle," Mithrandir insisted. He reached over and put a hand on Varyar's shoulder. "So much of you is unknown to those of us who have insight, and that obscured path is difficult to trust. I did not trust it enough, and that I will admit. I ensured you were there as I felt you needed to be, and that may never be forgiven, but I could not allow us to fall at the last when all else seemed won. We needed you. I think we have always needed you, and that was why you were forced to cross paths with Legolas again, to draw you into something you have always avoided."

"If I was needed, I would have been there," Firyavaryar said, irritated. "You did not have to choose for me. I would have fought if I needed to, and you did not need to manipulate me. No one did. When you reach your Valinor, when you see your Valar—you tell them that. None of this was necessary. You—and they—are not forgiven."

"Firyavaryar—"

"Do not think it has not been considered, that is has not been tried. It would be easier to overlook such treachery had you not denied me choice in the matter. That is where I still struggle to find any measure of understanding, any willingness to alter my opinion. I cannot accept your actions as right, for I know what I would have done—anything and everything necessary to protect my family. You had no right to deny me the _choice _of the cure, the _hope _of it, and many of the things you tasked me with I would have been willing to do without you misleading me the way you did."

"I misjudged you."

Varyar studied the Istari, frowning as he did. "It is more than that. You believe I betrayed Legolas by choice, that I was willingly serving Ogol, that I still do. That is the truth of it."

"No, Firyavaryar," the wizard said, moving his hand to Varyar's face. "I did not have the trust in you that I had in Frodo, for I sent him on a task much as I did you, but I believed in him. I did not have that kind of faith in you, and for that, I must apologize."

Firyavaryar pulled away, still uncomfortable with being touched even though he was cured. "Do not think those words alone will earn you forgiveness."

"I would not think so, but you are still an elf. You may yet live long enough to find that measure of forgiveness, even if I have long since departed from these shores."

* * *

><p>"It is a shame this is your last day here," Legolas said, looking over at Estel. He knew he should not be so disappointed—his friend was a king now, and that meant that he had responsibilities elsewhere, ones that would always keep him away from what he wanted to do and the people he would be with. "I will miss you."<p>

Estel smiled. "I will miss the peace that we have had here, that _I _have had."

"And not my company?"

"I should not need to miss it if you were more willing to come to Minas Tirith," Estel said, and Legolas started to shake his head. "Do not tell me that you cannot come. You are not so far away, and since this is your dominion now, it is not your father's rule that keeps you in place. Why do you avoid me so much? Are you still mad at me?"

"Mad? No, Estel, I am not mad at you. I have not been mad in—I thought we had closed that rift between us before we set out with the ring-bearer," Legolas began, frowning. He turned back toward the tree, leaning against it as he considered his actions. Had he been mistreating Estel? He had thought he had done right—here he worked to rebuild peace and a broken land, and this sanctuary was the kind of solace the king needed, but had it been a strange way of keeping Estel at a distance? Why? Legolas could not say why he would do such a thing. He knew that he had not known how to stay when the sea called him, but that was not an excuse. "We did not?"

"You never forgave me for not telling you that Firyavaryar was alive."

Legolas blinked. "That is not true. I forgave that almost instantly. Did you not know—I did not say it, but I thought it was understood by the time that he was given the cure. I know I thanked you for your part in that. I told you I would always be grateful—and yet you still thought I was mad at you?"

"You did not stay in Minas Tirith, and you rarely visit. Do you blame me for the sea longing? Is that it?"

"No, I have never blamed you for that. I do not know why you would think I would," Legolas assured him. "No, I was—I do not wish to be in your way. You have so much more to do than spend time with me. You have your kingdom and your family and I had no wish to intrude. Here I am of use to you, fixing this land, and it is better that I am of use."

Estel put his hands on Legolas' arms. "What fools we still have been. Me assuming that you blamed me and you thinking you were making things easier for me. Why have we not learned these lessons already?"

"I cannot say," Legolas admitted, for he was ashamed of his behavior. Now he saw it as childish when before he thought it to be noble. "I should have learned, for how I have hated that Varyar stayed away for my sake, and yet I did the same to you. Forgive me. I was wrong. I was wrong about much of it, and I know you were hurt plenty during that time when you needed support, that I was more friend to Varyar than I was to you as you prepared for your worst trials—"

"I do not wish for you to blame yourself any more than you would want me to," Estel insisted. "We may be fools, but we are friends first and foremost, and that is what I would rather remember than any kind of misunderstanding. I have already forgiven you."

"As have I forgiven you," Legolas agreed. "I wish I had not been so stubborn before."

"You were grieving, and I was not patient enough."

Legolas nodded, though he did not know that he felt comforted. He still disliked his actions, though he knew none of them were blameless during that time. Much of the blame lay with an elf that was still absent.

"We have heard that this is a land where men and elves live side-by-side." Legolas heard a female voice ask, carried to his ears on the wind, and he looked back to where he and Estel had left the others to see some figures in black cloaks with Faramir and Gimli. Legolas felt a pang, remembering the sight of the elves that walked toward the gray havens. How familiar those cloaks were, and how it reminded him of the sea. He did not want to think of that. "Is this true?"

"It is," Faramir said, and even from this distance, Legolas could hear the frown in his voice. Estel looked at him with concern, but Legolas did not think that the cloaked figures were a threat. They numbered only five—not an army by any means—but Legolas knew that some still existed that objected to the colony that he had established in the lands of the steward. Gimli and Faramir would not allow anyone to cause trouble, but that protection itself could be dangerous. Legolas knew that voice. Not well, but he knew that he knew it, and he needed to return to the others. "What purpose do you have here?"

"We have come to see if such foolishness is true and to regard the madness with our own eyes," the voice from the cloak said, and Legolas could identify the speaker now, for her voice carried with it the weight of someone he knew, and her attitude was very familiar to him. He smiled, trying to reassure Estel as he led him back to where the others waited.

"It is not madness," Faramir told her. "You see here a land of peace, and we will not tolerate a disturbance."

"You _edain _are quick to assume that someone means you harm. So very suspicious, the _edain," _she went on, shaking her head with a mocking sense of regret, and Legolas thought Gimli was tempted to raise his axe and threaten her, but that could not happen.

"Surely you do not believe that of all of us," Aragorn said as he and Legolas reached them. He did not know if the king knew the voice as well, but Legolas knew his excitement was poorly concealed, even if the number before him was one short. "Have you some reason to assume that all _edain _intend violence?"

"It has been my experience that most, if not _edain _are quick to it and feel little regarding the harm of others, though I suppose I should say that you were an exception to that."

Aragorn frowned. Gimli did as well, but Legolas laughed, rushing over to her side, wrapping his arms around her. "It is good to see you, Alassë."

"Not too good, I hope," a male said, and Legolas turned to him. "She is still _my _wife, not yours."

"I would never believe I could change such a thing, Idhrenion," Legolas said, going to embrace him as well, stopped before he got close by the burden in his friend's arms. He did not want to believe that was what he thought it was. "This is Thenidriel? How she has grown since I saw her last. She is a little lady now, and yet no less charming than she was when she was a _gwinig. _You will have disappointed _Ada, _little one, for he would have loved to spoil you as a _gwinig. _You made great fools of us all."

"I do not doubt that she will do so again," Estel told him, and Legolas turned back, laughing as he acknowledged the king's words. He was already acting the fool again, and he should not be, not after that conversation that he had just had with Estel. "No one can save you from that fate."

"It is one I accept willingly," Legolas said. He looked at his friend. "I hope you are not too displeased to have your last day here be overshadowed by the arrival of more company."

"I am not," Estel said, smiling. "It is good they came now, allowing me a chance to see them, instead of after I have gone."

"Oh," Eruaistaniel said. "And here we thought it would be better if we did not come until after you were gone, that we should not interrupt your visit to Legolas."

Legolas thought he knew who believed that, but he thought that at last things were settled between him and Estel and that any further animosity would be on Varyar's part, not Estel's. He did not know for certain, but he thought the king had let go of that old bitterness. He only hoped that his other friend could—_would—_do the same.

* * *

><p>"It's getting a mite crowded here," Gimli observed under his breath, looking over at Faramir. "Far too many elves."<p>

Faramir looked at him with a frown. The dwarf grunted. He knew this was an elven colony, but that was not the same. The steward had no experience with _these _elves, did not know the danger of them or the pain that they had caused Legolas when they disappeared in the middle of the night. Gimli had heard that Gandalf kept a cure from them and it angered them, so he wasn't sure he could call their departure cowardice, but he knew that one elf in particular had been upset by it. Not that one could see it now. All he was doing was smiling like some daft fool at each of them, pleased to see them when he should know better.

Legolas bowed to the elf-maiden who had spoken a moment before. "No, you are all very welcome, as you have heard Estel say. Lady Eruaistaniel, I am pleased to see you looking so well. We are honored by your visit."

"You need not flatter me more than the others. Or do you truly feel I need the formality of a court? I do not, even if I was raised to marry into one," she said, and Gimli wondered what Legolas thought of that. Would he take her back to his father's court? Was that what made him bow and act like an even greater fool than he had been already?

"I fear I do not know how to greet you," Legolas confessed. "I was afraid an embrace would be unwelcome after what you have endured. I know the twins made you uncomfortable with their antics, and I would not want to add to that."

"I am grateful for your consideration," she said, folding her hands together. "Though I would hope that an embrace would not feel so wrong, not when most of my family calls you _gwador."_

Legolas smiled at her, taking her hands and squeezing them. She smiled, a flush on her cheeks, and Gimli thought he'd have something to tease the princeling about later. He nudged Faramir, and the steward frowned down at him.

Another elf-maiden removed her hood, and this one Legolas hugged without hesitation. Gimli frowned. He did know that one—she was the most dangerous of all those elf-maidens—but he would not have thought even the pointy-eared prince would dare embrace her.

"I have missed you, Sérëdhiel."

"And I you, Legolas. It was not easy to leave, but it was necessary."

He nodded, and Gimli was tempted to tell her just what he thought of her "necessary" action, but Legolas had already turned to the last cloaked figure. He did not try to touch this one. "Nostalion. I am glad you are well. At least, I hope you are well."

"I am." The assassin said little else, but something shifted beneath his cloak, and Legolas leaned forward with a frown, examining the gap in the fabric. Gimli readied his axe, knowing that this time it would be needed.

"Is that...?"

"Yes, that is our son," Sérëdhiel said, pride in her voice as she joined her arm to her husband's, pushing back his cloak and revealing a baby elf. She smiled, leaning her head against Nostalion's shoulder as she looked upon the child.

Faramir put a hand on Gimli's shoulder, and then he smiled at him, amused. Gimli grunted. "It _could _have been a threat."

"I am very happy for you," Legolas told her, smiling. "Estel, look. Another _gwinig. _This one might not have the same features as his cousin, but he has his mother's charm all the same. Perhaps he could be a playmate for your son."

"Perhaps," Aragorn agreed with a smile. "I think Arwen would like that."

Sérëdhiel glanced toward her own husband, who did not seem to agree with that suggestion. She smiled, softening his gruffness. "I hope your son is as healthy as ours seems to be—and less of a troublemaker."

"See?" Gimli said to Faramir. "A troublemaker."

Faramir frowned, as did Aragorn. "At his age?"

"A fact for which she blames me though I fail to see why, since they did not name this one after me or any nonsense like that, nor did his behavior deter them from a second one," Firyavaryar said, and Gimli looked up to see him in a tree above their heads. He had not heard the elf climb up there, and he had to wonder how long he had been there, unobserved. Minutes? Hours? Could it have been days? Wait—that was not a tree. That was an ent, and they should have noticed that tree hadn't been there before, and none of them had.

They were in trouble indeed.

"A second one?" Legolas asked, looking at Sérëdhiel, and Gimli frowned again. Did that mean she had _another _child somewhere? Since when did elves have so many children? They didn't. No one had seen any for centuries. Elves were dying out, leaving the lands, not having a bunch of babies.

"Both her and Alassë," Firyavaryar answered, sliding down the ent's branches, stopping in front of Legolas and giving the ent a pat that had it humming. The elf grimaced, but he turned to Legolas with a bright smile. "Your father will have reason to visit you now—he will have more than one _gwinig _to amuse him."

"Hmm," Legolas said, fighting a smile. "And yet I do not see you with any of your own."

"You amuse me," Firyavaryar said, though Gimli thought there was an edge to his words, playful as they pretended to be. "Not only could I argue that I have already raised two fine elves, but I could also ask—what _elleth _would have me and consent to bear my children?"

Legolas shook his head in mock pity. "You must be a fool. Can you truly _not _know how Eruaistaniel feels about you? Clearly you are undeserving of such affection, and far stupider than I realized before—"

"Silence," Firyavaryar warned, "or I will tell all these assembled here about the fool you made of yourself when you fell for a certain _elleth _with hair of the strangest shimmering strands, the kind a poet writes about, though you were not much of one—"

"_Yrch," _Legolas said, and Firyavaryar laughed as he ran away from him. Legolas chased after him, disappearing deep into the trees.

Sérëdhiel smiled, laughing and shaking her head. "I have missed that."

"Missed it?" Faramir asked, frowning. "Why would you miss it?"

She wiped at her eye, taking her own child from her husband's arms. Nostalion moved his arm around her waist, leaning his head against hers as she spoke. "Do you know how long it has been since I have heard that kind of laughter?"

"Days ago?"

Aragorn shook his head at Fararmir's suggestion. "I'd guess more like centuries."

She nodded. "Yes, and yet here it is again. For all that has been wrong between them and all the harm that has happened because of their friendship, it is special. Important. Wonderful, even. I would say he is closer to Nostalion than Legolas, but as with Legolas' friendship with you, King Elessar, there is a part they have that you and he do not share. Listen—after all they have been through, after all the torture and pain and misunderstandings, they can still play like elflings, and it is... beautiful."

Gimli started to object, but he heard Legolas' laughter ring through the trees, lighter than usual, with a quality that Gimli knew he had never heard before, and he nodded instead. "Aye, lass. It is a fine thing indeed. Very fine."

"It is the sort of thing that should last forever," Aragorn said. He looked to Sérëdhiel. "Will you stay this time?"

"Forever is too much to promise," she said, but she smiled, rocking her son in her arms, "but I think that as long as Legolas is here, we will not be far away."


End file.
